


Apprentice

by theimpossiblegeekygrrl



Series: Apprentice [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Secretary (2002)
Genre: Acceptance, Alternate Universe, BDSM, Control, Cutting, Depression, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, HP: EWE, Love, May/December Relationship, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Potions, Punishment, Scars, Self-Acceptance, Self-Discovery, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 07:46:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5735488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theimpossiblegeekygrrl/pseuds/theimpossiblegeekygrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After her life is turned upside down by two members of the Golden Trio, Ginny Weasley returns to Hogwarts for an Apprenticeship in Potions with Severus Snape, a man still too restrained by his expectations of life and need for control in all things. They go on a path of self-discovery and awakening. EWE/AU and M for serious smut and for M themes/situations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lost

_Original Author’s Note (29 June 2015):_  
_Not mine, No money, still Walmart Brand Macaroni and Cheese broke. No offenses intended to J.K Rowling, Mary Gaitskill, or Erin Cressida Wilson._

_So this is an ode to one of my favorite movies, "Secretary". If consensual kink is not your bag, for the love of Merlin don't read it. The last time I watched "Secretary" a few months ago, I just kinda squinted and went, "… Huh" and started writing accordingly. This is EWE, and maybe a little AU just to cover myself (Ginny's eyes are brown in the book and blue here, for one), and M audience only. Seriously, don't read this if you are underage. Please and thank you._

_One would argue, correctly, that Ginny is quite OOC. She is. She reminded me of this constantly while I was writing. But there's a reason why. Emotional pain can change a person greatly, and I'm a walking, talking, writing testament to that. But as much as pain can change you, self-discovery can help you find out who you are now. You may not be who you were, and that's okay – and sometimes that's even great. What this life is all about is what you become and in the becoming, not about who you were._

**New Author’s Note:**

**16 January 2016**

**‘Apprentice’ was the first fanfiction I ever wrote, roughly a year ago when I was too timid to really write anything above a T rating and was definitely too timid to publish it. It took me six months, then a considerable amount of prodding from “NinaSays”/honeymink, to get it edited and posted on ffnet, where the original story still resides.**

**But in my timidity and fear, a lot of the things I wanted to put in the story didn’t get written, and some scenes I really liked I cut away. And since this is one of my favorite little things that I’ve gotten to write (mostly since it’s how I met the girl who I am now privileged to call my friend), I’ve decided that maybe it was time to remedy that. If you’ve read our ‘Naughty Drabbles’, you’ve seen I’m no longer timid about the smut that can come out of my mind. Not that this will be more so than the original story, but it’s going to push my comfort zones as the original story should have and was meant to.**

**In short, I’m going to finally write it as it was projected in the kinky 8mm film reel that is my mind.**

 

* * *

 

"And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."

\- Anaïs Nin -

* * *

 

 

I looked out of my window at St. Mungo's and watched my mother walk up the front steps. Molly Weasley's stride continued be as determined as it had been from my first memories of watching her move about the Burrow.

However, I could not remember seeing Mum's face so grim underneath the pretence of happiness. Something had been wrung out of her during the Battle of Hogwarts three years ago, and maybe it was really never going to return. The Battle had changed her; she had the stamp of someone who was going to age far quicker than she would have done in happier days.

What people don't realize about war is that the aftermath is almost as devastating as the war itself, no matter what side you are on.

I shut the drapes tightly and turned away from the window, trying to keep out the thoughts that were trying to invade my mind. Instead of gazing at my mother, I looked in the mirror at my own face, trying to figure out if the same stamp was on me.

Even with the months of extensive therapy following my "little accident", as Dad called it, I still couldn’t remember the last time I was even remotely happy. My blue eyes - eyes that Harry had once said were bluer than the deepest parts of the ocean - were nothing but flat voids, with no sparkle or lustre. Neither did my hair shine, nor did my skin glow. My appearance was now as flat as my life had become.

The only things that seemed to have any life within them were the jagged scars that zigzagged over the landscape of my body like a road map of pain. They were raised against the flat plains of my arms, legs, and stomach. The Healers had not been able to fix them, given too much time passing from the natural healing of the wounds and my instrument of choice – a slim silver knife.

My therapist, a Healer named Peri, told me that it started when Dad was almost killed in the Hall of Mysteries, and that my pain came to a head last year when Harry told me that he had fallen in love with Hermione.

Ron had handled it well – it even seemed Ron had always suspected that it would happen this way and was not even all that upset. He'd even be the best man at their wedding next year. Harry was a better match for Hermione, after all. That's what everyone had said, Ron included. My sweet, yet ill-tempered and cluelessly thick brother would have always lagged behind Hermione's thoughtful genius.

But why did it have to have been Harry? My Harry, the boy I'd had a crush on from the age of ten until I realized that it was love at the age of seventeen. Why did he have to be Hermione's match?

I felt my fingers twitch with need.

_No. Not now, not where someone could catch you. Must be careful. Must be patient enough to get out of here first._

I heard Mum's voice down the hallway.

"Ginny!" Molly cried in that sweet, sing song voice she had always spoken to me with. "Ginny Weasley! Time to go home."

I looked at my bag, already packed and ready for the Apparation back to the Burrow, and sighed. Even amidst the distant screams and moans of the other wards, I had almost felt at peace here for the first time since the end of the war.

Since I left Hogwarts, really.

I remembered the summer we spent helping with the rebuild. Then that wonderful last year at the school that I got to spend with Ron, Harry, and Hermione as we were all 7th years together. Except that now, with full hindsight, the signs of change in Harry's affections was already starting to show, even if it took him another full year after graduation to finally face the truth and part ways with me.

_Not yet. Wait until you are alone. Must be patient. Must be careful. Then you can finally feel._

"Ginevra Weasley!" Mum burst into my room. No knock, no privacy, even though I was now twenty and had recently recovered from a nervous breakdown.

I felt as though someone had placed me in a Full Body-Bind when she hugged me. Physical contact was forbidden between patients and especially between patients and staff. My arms felt stiff around her, in fact everything about me seemed clunky within her forced warmth.

I pulled back from her embrace to look at my mother's face. Yes, she was forcing something. Her smile, even with the constant grimness beneath it, wasn't real.

"Are you ready dear?" Mum asked as she stroked my hair. She was tense, too, and there was something in her eyes that was now even more wrong than it has been six month ago.

Then I saw the wrongness for what it was and could give it a name.

Fear.

My own mother was afraid of me now.

I put on the best smile I could. "I think so."

She pushed me from her slightly, getting a better look of my attire. Her eyes immediately went to my arms.

"Do you have a robe with sleeves, Ginny?" she asked. "Something with a little more … cover?"

I nodded and pulled on a long sleeved robe over my clothes.

"We'll get you some new clothes at Madam Malkin’s. That way you won't have to fuss with the Concealment Charms as you were doing before. Make things a little easier, won't it?" she asked, that mock cheerfulness ringing like a padded church bell.

I nodded again and followed her to the front desk to officially sign my release papers. Mum signed with me, as I had been both voluntarily and involuntarily kept here.

The man at the desk flicked his wand over the papers, and they were filed away in whatever filing system they use for people like me. He carefully looked me over and went into a side room, coming back with my wand. He held it out to me, and when I touched it I felt recognition hum within it as it warmed back up to me. This time my tiny smile was real.

"Oh, Ginny!" Mum said as she started to cry. Her arms were around me again. I stiffened even more against her tears. "It will be better now, you'll see. We'll find you a job and a place to live, and you'll be my sweet happy girl. You just wait."

I nodded and felt the smile fade from my face as I tucked my wand into my sleeve. We walked out, my petrified hand in her strong one, and Apparated back to the Burrow.

It looked the same. But how could our horribly misshapen house ever change? We loved it too much, and there were memories of Fred here, as well as memories of Tonks and Remus. When we walked into the front door I could almost see them sitting at the dining room table. Freddie would be kicked back in his chair like a lazy mess, and Remus and Tonks would be sitting together, hand in hand.

Except they weren't. They never would be again.

_Just a little longer now. Wait it out._

"Your room is just as you left it," Mum said. She busied herself in the kitchen. It would be supper soon, and surely she'd drag all my brothers and my sister-in-law home to celebrate my return to sanity.

I nodded yet again.

Where were my words? Maybe I left them at St. Mungo's along with all the thoughts they attempted to make me give a voice to.

I walked to my little room on the landing at the foot of the stairs, dumping my bag to the floor unceremoniously, and sat on my bed. I flicked my wand and the door shut and locked. Another flick and my Little Bag flew into my hands – my real bag, the bag I needed and had been forced to leave here.

The Little Bag they didn't know I still had.

I opened it and removed the silver knife from my old potions kit, charmed "to always remain sharp and to never rust". I pulled up the sleeve of my robe, then decided to remove the robe altogether.

_Now you can do it. Now you can feel it again._

I just made a little cut, this time, inside my upper arm that no one could see but me. The blood was very red against my skin. A few drops ran down my arm, gathering in the crook of my elbow, covering the biggest scar like war paint.

And I felt it.

I felt it for the first time since I'd had my little slip and cut too deep and too fast, after we'd gotten the wedding announcement.

I felt it, and it was better than my first taste of Butterbeer in Hogsmeade and the first time Harry kissed me in the Room of Requirement put together.

I felt free. And open. And alive.


	2. Normal

"Ginny!" George yelled. "Don't be late for your own party, you crazy mess."

I smiled as I heard Mum smack the back of his head.

"Ow!" he cried. "Come on Mum, have a sense of humor for a change. Me holey head, me holy brother, and even me wolfy brother highly recommend it. OW!" Another smack.

"George Weasley, I will take you over my knee – I don't care how old you are!"

“Then do it, woman! Show Angelina just how I like it – OW!”

“I’ll teach you both a thing or two you little …”

I could hear Mum yelling, her voice getting louder with each word. I put up my Little Bag and shrugged back into my robes before I opened the door. She was standing right in front of me.

"There you are, dear. Ready for some dinner?" she said sweetly. Her false cheer from before was replaced with the real thing, since we were all together with her. But the fear – I could still feel it as vividly as I could hear the ghoul clanging about upstairs.

"Yes," I said, my voice now a little rusty from having spoken so little today. I cleared it. "Yes, Mummy."

She put an arm around my waist and led me out. Everyone was there at the table, except for Charlie, who never seemed to get out of Romania much anymore now that the War was completely over. I didn't participate much in the conversation; I didn't want to because I knew they were watching me as much as I was watching them. Even George, who smacked my shoulder from time to time and told me to "Speak up, sis!" and called me his "Little cookie cutter" while evading our mother's quick hands, was looking worriedly at me out of the corner of his eyes when he thought I wasn't paying attention.

"Have you thought about a job?" asked Percy. "Dad and I could probably find you an entry level positon at the Ministry, with your NEWT scores as good as they were."

I shook my head. Even if Percy and Daddy had gone right back into the corrupted system with the attitude of fixing what had been left so broken by the War, I was not qualified to fix anything.

"Get real, Perce, she's going to work at the shop with me and Ron," said George, putting a lazy arm around me. I almost could feel Fred's arm on the other side, and I stiffened against both of them.

I shook my head again. Too many people – strangers every day – mixed with people I knew and most assuredly did not want to see.

"What do _you_ want to do, Ginny?" asked Bill. He was always so gentle with me, my biggest big brother with his scarred face, who always knew how to handle his odd man out little sister. "You said once that you wanted to teach. Have you thought of taking an apprenticeship while you get back on your feet?"

This time I frowned and shook my head because I hadn't thought about that even being an option, now that I had the word "crazy" marked on my forehead.

I looked at Bill. His blue eyes were so like mine used to be, alive and vibrant like a turbulent sea. I wanted that back. "I think that sounds great, Bill, but who would want me?" I asked. Mum shoved some tea in my direction when the last words croaked out of my throat.

"Gin, it's not like you completely went off the deep end," said Ron. "You were just a little … sad. And rightfully so."

"Sad," I repeated. I rubbed my arms, letting my hands glide over the proof of just how ‘sad’ I'd been.

Dad spoke this time. "I'll make some calls tomorrow, see who needs an apprentice. It's the right time of year to apply, since they term right along with the school year."

This time I really tried to smile. An apprenticeship. Maybe it would be what I needed.

* * *

 

Dad gave me the list the next day when he got home from work.

There were five Masters looking for an apprentice. The first was for Arithmancy with a Professor at Beauxbatons. I quickly marked that one out before I looked at the description. Not Arithmancy, not France - especially not right now.

The second was for Charms at the Salem Academy.

 _America_.

The description looked promising. Two years, one studying and one student teaching. Doable.

The next two were as hopeless as the one for Beauxbatons – both at Durmstrang.

Then, I saw the school before I saw any another detail. Hogwarts.

_Home._

My heart sang until I read everything the entire description.

_Two year Apprenticeship with Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master, Former Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Order of Merlin First Class. First year will include instruction and brewing of highest level potions, as well as working as a teaching assistant. Will brew OWL and NEWT level potions for the school as well as for Ministry use. Second year will be focused on independent instruction for all grade levels as well as continued brewing of the most advanced potions. Both years will include intensive training on the process of creating new potions and compounds._

_Serious applicants only, please._

I looked up and met the eyes of my father. They were watery and red, and he couldn't hide his sniffle.

"You were happy there, Ginny. Maybe it will make you happy again,” he mumbled as he wiped his face with his red and gold handkerchief.

"I was happy because of Harry, Dad," I said as I set the list down.

"Ginny, stop it," he said, his voice pleading. "I know you think having a clean start somewhere will fix everything. But think about it. I know Severus can be difficult-"

I snorted and pulled a face. Dad looked at me imploringly, and I acquiesced.

"But, he saved your brother's life. Not to mention he's the most respected Potioneer in our world. And you were a real crack with Potions. Didn't you have the highest OWL and NEWT scores in the school history?"

"Second highest," I said smugly, remembering the look on Hermione's face when she realized I'd beaten her at something academic. "Professor Snape's scores are the highest in school history."

"See?" he said. He gave me the official application and the one from Salem, along with a quill and ink set.

I sighed. But, I filled them out in the end. And when Xavier held out his leg for me to give him the mail, I gave him both.

_Now you can feel again. You're done. Back up the stairs._

I complied.

* * *

 

I never heard back from Salem.

A week later, Xavier returned with a letter addressed to me in a narrow, spikey scroll that was so familiar I probably could have forged it myself from memory.

_Miss Weasley,_

_I am surprised to have received your application to be my Apprentice. Most apply within a year of their NEWTs if not before, on promise of completion. You are now two years out from your exams and applying well outside the respectable time frame._

_Nevertheless, I will graciously grant you an interview tomorrow at eleven o'clock. Meet me in Dungeon Five. Mr. Filch will let you in the main gate and will take you to the castle at no later than ten forty-five._

_Professor S Snape_

I smelled the letter, recognizing the scent of the Potions classroom – smoke from the lit burners and an unknowable combination of herbs and other ingredients.

"Mum?" I called.

"What is it Ginny?" she said. She came out from her study and looked at me expectantly. I still saw the fear there, but she was learning to control it better.

"I have in interview at Hogwarts tomorrow."

"Oh, darling!" she said as she flung her arms around my stiff body. "I'll do your hair for you if you want. And you can wear my best robes. I'm so proud of you." She was really beaming now, and even the grimness under the surface of her skin was almost invisible. "Let's Floo your father, okay?"

I nodded and walked with her to the fireplace.

* * *

 

She fussed over me the next morning, curling and primping my hair like she did when I was little. When I looked in the mirror I almost saw myself in it, except for my eyes. Her bright orange robes were overlong on my petite body, but they hid my arms and legs better than any spell.

I'd learned in the previous week that my wand would no longer perform Concealing charms thanks to my Healers at St. Mungo's, so I had to be more careful now. Especially since I had some new marks to heal.

I Apparated by myself for the first time since my accident, arriving outside of the Hogwarts main gates. Filch was there at the gate as promised.

"Mornin' Miss Weasley," Filch said as he helped me into the carriage waiting next to him. He sat down in the seat next to me, and the Thestral took off into a trot. "You look different," he said.

"I imagine I do," I replied, looking out into the forest.

"No ring on your finger," he said, looking at my hands.

I shoved them in the pockets of my robes. "That ring went to another girl instead of me."

Filch regarded me for a long time before he replied, "Then Potter's a bigger fool than we thought."

I stared at him with shock, but he said nothing else.

Then I saw it. The castle peaks rose over the tops of the forest in the distance, then the balustrades and towers came into view. My heart began to pound, and I felt a smile spread across my face.

_Home._

"It does that to me too, every time I come back from holiday," said Filch. We rode to the bridge, and stopped there. Being a real gentleman today, Filch helped me out of the carriage.

"You remember where Dungeon Five is?"

I nodded.

"Good luck," he said. I looked back at him and saw him dry his eyes with a dirty handkerchief. "Been too long without a Weasley in this school."

I nodded and walked across the bridge and through the front door. The castle was the same as I left it after the rebuild. It was the same school, yet it was not the same school of my memory. Some things, like the doors and bricks, were still too shiny. The patina of history and age had not returned to it, nor would it for some time yet. But, as I smiled at the portraits in passing and saw many wave back with recognition, it was still home.

I looked at my watch and saw I had just two minutes to spare as I descended the stairs into the lower levels of the castle. I picked up my robes and ran to Dungeon Five. The door was closed, and when I knocked I tried not to notice that my hand was trembling.

"Enter," said a deep voice I knew better than my own.

Taking a deep breath, I opened the door and walked in.

Professor Snape was sitting behind his desk in the back of the hazy room. He looked the same really, but not the same. He was like the castle was now - same old Snape, but shiny with the new additions. His hair was now clean, I thought derisively, and streaked with silver around his temples. He had cut it, and though it was still much longer than what was fashionable, it no longer hung in his eyes like raven colored curtains.

He had not taught my 7th year while he recovered from Nagini's attack, but I'd seen him at enough events that I knew he had slowly put on some much needed weight. His face had filled out, and he no longer had the appearance of a wraith. He almost looked a little handsome. If you let your eyes go a little out of focus.

When he sneered at me and looked pointedly at his pocket watch before saying, "You are a minute late, Miss Weasley. Tell me, why should I even consider interviewing you at this point?" I knew he hadn't really hadn't changed very much at all.

"You only gave me fifteen minutes to get here," I said, not moving from the door.

"I told you Mr. Filch would be there _no later_ than ten forty-five. You _could_ have met him earlier."

"I didn't read your response like that," I admitted, before putting my hand back on the door to leave. Feeling dejected, I mumbled, "I'll just go home."

"Not so fast," he said, waving his arm at me to come closer. "Let this be a lesson. When you read instructions, sometimes you have to read between the lines."

I nodded and walked to his desk, sitting down in the chair that had been placed opposite to him.

"Now," he said as he templed his long fingers under his chin. "Why do you want to be my apprentice?"

I looked at a spot over his shoulder, not wanting to meet his eyes just yet. "I want to learn potions. I had very high marks on my OWLs and NEWTs –"

"Second only to mine," he said.

I nodded and swallowed. My voice was getting tired at being used so much. "I figured this would be the best use of my skills."

He stared at me. "You do realize this is rather boring and tedious work, compared to the excitement of being in the Ministry right now. You could go wherever you want with your NEWT scores and your father and brother’s nudging."

I grimaced as I thought about how much the idea of excitement, or the prospect of running into Harry or Hermione at the Ministry, made me nauseated.

"I don't want the excitement of the Ministry," I said, clearing my throat a little. "And I loved making potions. You know my work, and you know my work ethic. Surely it speaks for itself."

He nodded. "I do. I remember," he said, his own voice sounding rough and tired. He reached into his robe and pulled out two small vials. He took one for himself and gave me the other. I frowned at him as I examined the light blue liquid in the light.

He drank his, never taking his eyes off me. "I call it 'Throat Repair'. I developed it for the moments when my voice goes out. Some of my wounds haven't healed completely." He put the vial in a small container on his desk.

I nodded and drank the potion in one gulp. My throat warmed and relaxed as the sweet tasting liquid tickled down my throat. I looked at the Professor in surprise.

He gave me a small, stilted smile. "More tolerable than Pepper-up, and the effects last longer. During your Apprenticeship, you will learn how to develop your own potions. I encourage at least three during your first year, and five the second, but the number is up to you, depending on if research and development, brewing, or teaching is you interest. Which is it for you?"

"Teaching," I said, with a stronger voice than I'd used in months.

"Out for my job?" he asked mockingly, standing up from his desk. He leaned against the wall behind him.

"No, sir," I said. "But teaching interests me the most. But I'd like to complete the highest level of course work so that I’ll have all options available when my Apprenticeship is completed."

He nodded. "I took the same path exactly. Be forewarned, you will need to learn to use your voice again," he said slowly. "I expect my Apprentices to come out of their second year with a solid mastery of Potions, and you can't have that without having a solid voice of your own."

"Does this mean you'll take me?" I asked him cautiously.

He nodded.

"Why?" I asked before I could help myself.

"Two reasons," he said. "One, you are the most qualified applicant I could ask for, even overqualified, despite your lapse in applying" he said. "And two," he said, looking straight at me when he added, "You were the only person brave enough to apply."

"So it's me or nothing?" I asked.

He shrugged. "I could do with nothing. I haven't taken on an apprentice since before Potter attended school." I stiffened at the mentioned of his name. Snape frowned when he saw my reaction. "Be that as it may, I like the help. And I like to teach, especially people who aren't entirely idiots. So," he said, "I chose you."

"Then I accept," I said. We shook hands over the table.

"I’ll warn you, Miss Weasley. The Wars may be over and my days as a spy are definitely complete, but I am still not an easy man to work with. I spent six months in St. Mungo's recovering from my physical injuries …" he paused as though he was uncertain how to continue before he finished, "and another six while they tried to rebuild my mind." He looked at me and saw my shock at his candour.

I looked at his eyes for the first time since the start of our interview when he said this. They were the same dark eyes, black and deep as jet. But now they were flat, when they used to glitter.

Just like mine. Dull as river stones. Seeing those dead eyes stirred something within me. Without reason other than that, I decided that I could trust him, because he was just like me somehow. In his eyes, I saw my own self reflected back.

He shifted uncomfortably before he continued. "I'll never be a cheerful man, nor pleasant to look at or converse with. I like to be in control more than I care to admit. But I will teach you everything I know, to the best of my abilities. If you can put up with me."

"I survived the Carrows, Sir," I said in a very even voice. "I survived a year with you in the top job that you did not want, and I survived the last battle on these very grounds, even when my older brother did not." I suppressed the memory of seeing Fred's dead in the Great Hall - crying during this interview was not an option. "I can manage two years with you."

With that, he showed me to the office that would soon be mine. It was just next to his, and was in fact connected to it by a small in-between door. My office led to my quarters. They were modest but cozy. I'd have a small sitting room, a bedroom three times as large as my little cupboard at home, and a bathroom. After sleeping in the same room with seven other girls my entire teenage life and living in my family's home that offered little to no privacy, it looked like heaven in three rooms.

"School starts in a month," he said. "But I would like you back in two days so you can start brewing again. You have to get back up to speed before the dunderheads know you've been behind."

I nodded, and he walked me back out of the castle.

"We didn't discuss pay," he said, taking a sheet of parchment out of his pocket and looking at the number.

"You'll be fair," I said, walking back across the bridge.

"Miss Weasley?" he called.

I looked back.

"No later than ten forty-five, this Thursday. Two days from now," he said.

I nodded and walked to the waiting carriage. When I looked back, I looked at the castle instead of Professor Snape.

I would be coming home in two days.

It didn't seem like soon enough.

* * *

 

I Apparated back home and saw my mother de-gnoming the garden. I joined her, though she didn't notice me until I'd already thrown three over the fence.

"Oh Merlin, Ginny, you gave me a fright," she said, throwing the one in her hand over the gate before it bit her. "How did it go?"

"I got the job," I said, and gave her the biggest smile I could muster.

"Oh, my sweet girl," she said. She flung her arms around me and held my body so tight I felt I would break.

"You're smothering me," I said, my voice muffled in her robes. She'd mashed my head against her shoulder.

"Sorry, dear," she said. She wiped her eyes. "We'll have a special dinner tonight. Would you like to go to Diagon Alley and pick up some new robes? We never did do that for you after you got home. Sound okay?"

I kept smiling and nodded.

_Just keep smiling until you can get back to your room. Just a little longer. Don't rush back._

 


	3. Problems

My first two weeks as Professor Snape's Apprentice started out well enough. He decided that I should brew the potions to help stock up the hospital for the start of term. All the potions were OWL level, and I could already make them in my sleep, even with being out of practice. I dutifully made cauldron after cauldron of Pepperup potion, Sleeping Draught, Strengthening Solution, Draught of Peace, and Invigoration Draught – anything and everything on Poppy’s list that he decided I needed to refresh myself by making.

We were in his office when he taught me how to make Skele-Gro, the most advanced potion I'd ever made, under his watchful eye. It was here that we had our first problem.

"Wrong," Professor Snape said, as he carefully watched me pulverize the scarab beetles. "Give those to me before you completely ruin them like an idiotic First year." He grabbed the mortar and pestle from my hands. "You pulverize first with a pounding motion ten times, then by grinding anticlockwise until you achieve a fine powder, like so," he said, demonstrating the method to me. "This is what I get for taking on an Apprentice so far from her schooling," he said as he took a step back and returned the equipment. "Sub-par work."

I frowned into the bowl of coarsely ground insects. It was just like being back in school. Only worse, perhaps, since I was voluntarily here. Professor Snape always seemed to have the knack of making me feel about two inches tall, even though I'd always been a good student.

I continued with my task, grinding anticlockwise, until the results were a powder fine dust. Holding my breath as I held out the bowl, I showed the results to him.

"Correct," he said, nodding. "Now the cabbage."

I looked at the directions and saw I needed to slice them on the bias with a sliver knife, then chop them with a steel blade. I looked in my kit and realized my steel knife was in my room, in my little bag.

I swallowed and closed my eyes.

"I need to fetch the correct knife from my room," I said softly.

He stared at me. "What did you say?"

"I need to fetch the correct knife from my room." I said, this time a little louder.

"What was that? I couldn't hear any sound come out your mouth. Have I gone deaf, or have you become a mute?" Professor Snape asked. He sneered at me as though he were daring me to continue.

"My knife," I said slowly and loudly, "is still packed in my room. I need to go get it. Sir."

"Next time, you should come to work prepared," he said nastily. "Go to your room like the silly, unprepared little school-girl you are, Miss Weasley, and get your knife."

I sniffed and ran to my quarters before he could see me cry.

He hasn't changed a bit, I thought. Everyone thought him to be such a hero. The misunderstood poor Potion's Master really was a shit on the inside, just as he'd always been even after a year at St. Mungo's.

But then again, what good had St. Mungo's done me?

I found my Little Bag and opened it, getting my favourite knife. I looked at it lovingly, tracing the sharp edge with my fingertip, pricking it enough to break the skin.

_Now, before you go back. Feel it._

I sat down on my bed,and lifted my overlong skirts. There was a good spot on my inner thigh where I already had scar over scar from little, hidden cuts. I took a deep breath and gave in.

 _Free_.

Oh, to be free for a few minutes. To feel something – anything! – and to be able to focus for a while other on something than my miserable life.

I sighed, loving the way the blood ran down my leg, slowly gliding to my knee. Scarlet on white. It was beautiful, in a maddening, intoxicating way only I could understand. I felt real. Present. Profound.

A bare glimmer of movement caught my eye, making me realize I had not shut and warded my door in my haste to feel. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been that careless about hiding myself away while I indulged.

When I looked up, I saw Professor Snape was at the door, robes billowing behind him like he had just stopped mid run.

I swallowed. Very calmly, I lowered my robes, hiding my scarred skin from view, and cleaned the knife with a quickly cast Cleansing Charm. I quickly walked past him and out of the room, without speaking to or looking at him. I returned to his office and began slicing the cabbage, then chopping it as directed. He returned and slid up behind me while I was finishing, silently watching my work.

"That's better," he said. He touched it. "Maybe a little more finesse next time, but that's fine. Now on to the puffer-fish."

I nodded. Even though I knew he was staring at me, I would not meet his eyes.

Neither of us spoke about what he saw.

* * *

We made it through to the beginning of school without another incident.

When I sat at with him at the High Table for the Sorting and Welcoming Feast, he was once again the man from our interview - aloof, of course, but direct and even somewhat charming at times, especially when he spoke to anyone other than me.

I supposed I shouldn't expect any other behaviour from him. He'd been my teacher for six years and probably still saw me as the awkward eleven year old he'd met during my first year of school, not an adult and someone who might be worthy of his conversation or extra time outside of class.

As much as I hated to admit it, I’d grown a little lonely at Hogwarts. Professor Snape wasn't the only one of my former teachers who didn't seem to know what to do with me. If I'd been closer to my schooling, as most apprentices where, I probably wouldn't have noticed and would have at least had some of my close friends left in the Gryffindor House. As it was now, the older students who looked vaguely familiar looked at me as though I was a Blast Ended Skrewt.

As much as I didn't fit in at the Burrow anymore, I certainly didn't fit in here either.

* * *

He let me proctor the first class of the year by monitoring the potions preparation after he lectured. It was a 3rd year Double Potions with Slytherin and Gryffindor. After he left the room to gather more ingredients from his storeroom, I realized some things never changed when the class started to buzz with side conversation and threats of hexes being thrown. I went from table to table trying to quiet the students down, but I was not even remotely as commanding as Professor Snape.

Things went from bad to worse when a cauldron exploded just as he walked back into the room.

I, as well as the class, watched in mild terror as he looked from the mess that had stained the ceiling, to the students who were all still mid frenzy, some with wands raised, then to me. The cauldron that exploded had been sitting in front of me, and I was covered in hot, green slime.

"The next time I leave a room," he said in a very soft, controlled voice, looking at the students who were now wishing they had knew Disillusionment Charms, "I want it to be in the same condition in which I left it. You all have detention, tonight, so that you can have the pleasure of cleaning every single cauldron I can find. Class is dismissed. NOW."

They ran from the room in silence.

Professor Snape circled me, not saying a word. His displeasure was evident on his face.

"What, may I ask, did you first do wrong?" he asked.

"I didn't pay enough attention to this table," I said, wiping the muck from my face.

"Incorrect," he said. "What did you first do wrong?"

I thought for a minute as I pulled my hair back from the remaining slime. "I lost control of the class."

"Miss Weasley," he said, his voice as soft and slippery as new silk. "Listen to my question. What did you FIRST do wrong?"

This time I heard him. "I didn't command their respect, Sir."

He applauded me with a sardonic slow clap, then cast a special Cleansing charm over me, ridding me of the ruined potion.

"You’ll have to teach me that spell, sir," I said as ran my fingers through my newly cleaned hair.

"Not until you learn how to control a class the second you walk into a room," he said, sucking on his teeth. He frowned. "You still look like a teenager in your overly large, dumpy robes and your hair loose and all over your shoulders. Do you really think they are going to take you seriously? Do you think that you even look like a serious apprentice wearing that?"

I knew I didn't, but my clothes were the best I had. Even though my father had a better position in the Ministry than he'd had before the War and all of their children were out of the house, money was still a problem for my parents. The bills from my stay at St. Mungo's had not been cheap, and they had debts from our schooling. I looked at my well mended but shabby second hand robes - too long, too large, and cheaply made.

I shook my head, biting my lip.

"That's another thing. You need to speak up. At this point you have to speak up. We've talked about this before, Miss Weasley. If you have no command over your voice, you will never learn to control a class," he said. He looked at his pocket watch. "We don't have another group for an hour yet. First years," he said with a nasty grin, "scare easily. Come.”

I followed him out of the classroom and into his office. From there he walked into his own quarters.

"Stay there," he shouted, and I remained behind. He returned before I could even sit down, holding one of his frock coats in his arms, as well as one of his teaching robes. Both looked a little old, but well cared for. I knew those kind of clothes well, since they had covered me my entire life.

I touched the coat lightly with my fingers. The wool was finely made, and the cut and tailoring done by an expert hand. It was the kind of coat I would lust after in the windows of Madam Malkins, but never be able to afford. His teaching robes were similarly made. I realized that when I was in school we'd spent so much time making light of his appearance that no one had ever paid attention to the fact that he wore very good clothes, even if they did make him look like a bat.

"I have outgrown both of these," he said, smirking. He cast a charm over them and they shrunk until they would just fit me.

"Do you own a pair of opaque stockings?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Go to your room and put them on. And make your skirt fit. If you have one that's knee length, that would be better. Or, just wore a pair of plain black slacks. Though I generally don't prefer them on women anything is better than the sack you are wearing. White blouse with a high collar. And put your hair up. Then come back here."

I bit my lip and nodded, practically running to my office and into my quarters. I stripped my clothes off when I got to my bedroom and put on the stockings as instructed. They covered all of my scars, even though I had very few below my knees. In the back of my closet was my skirt from my Seventh year, which was knee length and still fit. I pulled on a white blouse, but frowned when I realized it was short sleeved. I had so many scars below the elbows … but, the jacket and robes would cover them for class.

_Once more. You are here and safe. Feel it._

I shook my head and audibly said, "No" as I pulled my hair into a chignon and returned to his office.

"Good," Professor Snape said, giving me the coat, but he grabbed my arm before I could put it on. He examined the scars, the thin white lines on the upper part of my forearms, the glimmer of more on my upper arms. A few fresh cuts were visible.

"Why do you do it?" he asked softly.

I looked away when I realized I had tears in my eyes. His voice was kind, hurting me in a way that didn't cause me to bleed, though it was painful all the same.

"I don't know, sir," I said, keeping my eyes from his.

He knew I was lying. He needn't been a Legilimens to see through it.

"Why, Ginny?" he asked in that same, soft voice.

"I don't know," I cried as I sat down in one of the chairs in front of his desk. "It makes me feel-it makes me feel," I started to hiccup.

"It makes you feel," he said. "You are a different woman than the girl I remember from the year I was …" he trailed off, his face looking pained. "You had fire then. Passion. Mostly for defying me," he said, smiling slightly. "What happened to that strong girl? What happened to your voice? Was it the mess over Potter or something else?"

"It was a lot of things," I said. I ran my hand of the scars on my left arm, remembering were I was and what I was thinking when each one was made. "But the worst was Harry. He was my first love. I thought he would be my last," I said. Then I spoke the truth I hadn't wanted to speak at St. Mungo's. "But I wasn't enough, not like Hermione. She challenges him like I can't. She makes him dream in ways I can't. I'm nothing," I said, looking at my hands. "I'm just the dregs."

I could hear his huff. "Would I have hired you if you were nothing?"

I laughed bitterly. "Your choice was me, or nothing, and you chose me," I said. "I'm better than nothing. It makes me feel amazing to know that, sir."

"Wrong, Miss Weasley. I told you that you were the only person brave enough to apply," he said. "It doesn't mean I didn't have fifty others who were trying to get this position by having their daddy or their uncles or their godmothers asking me. I chose you. Not nothing."

I looked up. His flat, black eyes were staring into me. What had taken the life out of them? Was it being beyond the veil as long as he had been prior to Madame Pomphrey bringing him back, or was it something else?

He must have been keen to my emotions, or they were written too plainly on my face, because he simply answered, "I too know what it's like to have your pathetic love-life, or lack thereof, being the topic of everyone's side conversation. And not being the better from it."

I remembered Rita Skeeter's horrific headline article: "Snape: Scoundrel with a Secret Love". When the alarm went out in Hogsmeade that Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been spotted, she Apparated into the Village and transfigured into her Animagus form to sneak on to the battleground. We all thought it was a pity that she had not been squashed in the fight, especially after she flew into the Headmaster's office behind Harry and viewed Professor Snape's memories after he left. We were mortified for him - those of us who knew the whole truth about the man who was so private and restrained, having been controlled by two Masters for far too long.

My headline had fared no better. "The Boy Who Cheats: Ginny's Tragedy". Skeeter had taken to writing pure gossip columns by the time my relationship with Harry ended. She'd been disgraced after Hermione exposed her for being an unregistered Animagus, and though she didn't write hard news for the Prophet anymore, she developed a substantial fan base through writing for the Witch Weekly gossip column.

Harry hadn't cheated, that I know of at least, but the speed at which he and Hermione got engaged after our breakup left a considerable amount of speculation. It was one of the reasons for my little slip.

I pulled myself back into focus when the Professor grabbed the jacket and shoved it at me. "Put it on."

I did and buttoned up the twelve buttons up the chest and the eight buttons up each sleeve. My fingers were tired when I was done.

"Better," he said. He gave me the robes. I put them on as well, as he charmed the wall in front of me into a mirror. "See?" he asked.

I did see. I looked imposing in the more formal attire. Like I could command a room.

Perhaps.

" _Muffliato_ ," he said, pointing his wand at the door. "Now scream."

"Are you barking mad?" I asked.

He didn't notice my disrespect or else he just ignored it. "Scream, Miss Weasley. Scream with all your might. Get all of it out that you can. You'll feel better, and it'll help with the next class.” He took a step back and waited.

"Ah!" I yelled. It was a feeble attempt.

"Louder."

" _AHHHHH_!" I yelled again, a little louder.

"Miss Weasley, Potter has left you for his best friend, you've cut yourself into ribbons, and you now have to work for me, the old greasy git who ordered the torture of you and your friends because I had no choice. You were involuntarily committed to St. Mungo's after a suicide attempt."

I looked at him in shock.

"Don't think I don't know about that, Ginny. I did my research on why you were out for so long." He stared at me, and for a second I thought I saw his eyes begin to glimmer.

"Let it out," he said softly.

I screamed then. I kicked the chairs, banged my hands at the walls, and knocked my hair loose from its pins. And it still wasn't enough. I screamed until strong arms were around me, holding me into a stronger chest. I could smell him, that scent that was unique only to him, and relaxed into his embrace.

As I calmed, I thought about how odd this all was. Me, in Professor Snape’s arms, with him soothing me like I was a small child … or perhaps a friend. Though I wouldn't have called that, he really was the closest thing I had to one, outside of my family. He actually seemed to care about me, as absurd as that idea was.

But, then again, he was different. And so was I.

"Better?" he asked.

I took a deep breath and felt the calm that had washed over me like a soothing balm. I nodded, then caught myself and answered out loud. "Actually I am, sir."

"Good," he said.

Under his watchful eyes, I straighten my hair and robes until they were satisfactory. "Now, let's intimidate some First years."

I smiled and followed him back to the classroom.

First years, as it turned out, _did_ scare easily.


	4. Forgiveness

After that first day of class, when the Professor dressed me in his own clothes, he opened accounts for me at Gladrags and Madam Malkin's. I could only buy from a small selection of robes he had pre-approved, and only in the colors he approved of.  Dark colors were what he liked – black, navy, grey, and deepest forest green. They were all severely buttoned, with long sleeves that extended past my wrists, just like his own. He said they would protect my skin from the increasingly advanced potions I was brewing. Skirts were always to the knee and full underneath the severe jackets. My teaching robes billowed about me just like his did around him.

The students started calling me "Little Snape" behind my back, when they thought I wasn't paying attention. The words made my eyes crinkle at the edges with a smile that would never quite surface, though it wanted to.

When I questioned him about why he would provide me such a luxury, he would tell me it was part of my wages as his Apprentice. I was not a Legilimens, not then at least, but even I could sense it wasn’t the complete truth.

But I didn't push. I decided that if he wanted to offer the small kindness of giving me decent clothes for the first time in my life, I would take it gladly and not argue with him.

* * *

What Professor Snape did for me in his office that first day had been a revelation. And, even though he'd clothed me in his own restrictive garments, his harsh and true words had freed some of my long restrained will. Although I was still cutting myself, it stopped being as frequent, and when I told myself that I would not do it, I didn't. Finding my voice again and using it to be my outlet took some of the need away, and the little nagging voice inside my head stopped being quite so insistent, though eventually it did demand its dues to be paid.

At some point during that time he began serving my plate at dinner. He was discreet enough, as to not draw attention from the other Professors – especially from the Headmistress, whose eyes and knowledge of the goings on of the castle were just as sharp as Professor Dumbledore's had been. Once he established a pattern of what I was expected to eat, as he said I was at least a stone underweight, I was allowed serve myself, but only under his watchful eye.

I never questioned it.

I never thought to.

He'd told me from the start he liked control. And I was beginning to learn that I liked giving control to him.

For some reason, it made me feel … free.

* * *

 

I was in my office enjoying a few precious moments of solitude, when I heard his voice through the connection door.

"Miss Weasley, may I have a word with you?"

I turned off my wireless radio and walked into his office. Even as a student, this was a room I loved to visit. Many of my girlfriends had been scared of the grotesque array of specimens that were bottled and displayed around the room, though I wasn't. I thought they were fascinating, even more so now that I knew importance of keeping the varied ingredients on hand.

Even if you didn't look at his collection of pickled animals and plants, his office was not a warm place. It was physically cold, as was mine, since the dungeons were tunneled far underneath Black Lake. Even with the fires we kept burning at all times, regardless of the shifts of the season, it was always cold and dank. The walls held the pictures I remembered from his Dark Arts classroom my 5th year – various pictures of witches and wizards who looked like they were suffering a great deal of pain. I wondered idly if they were taken while the Cruciatus Curse was inflicted, though I never dared to ask. It was a far change from my little office, no bigger than a cupboard, which was covered with pictures of my cheerful, friendly family waving back to me.

He was sitting next to his fireplace in one of the two black leather chairs situated in front of it. He motioned me to sit next to him.

"Tea?" he asked when I took my seat.

"Please," I replied.

He snapped his fingers and Kreacher, the Black Family's house elf and now Harry's, appeared next to him with a sharp crack. I couldn't help but giggle when I saw him dressed in the uniform that all Hogwarts house elves wore. The locket that Harry found in the cave that had once kept Regulus Black's note still hung around his thin, wiry neck.

"What are you doing here, Kreacher? Why aren't you at Grimmauld place?" I asked.

He sniffed and looked at Professor Snape before he answered. The Professor nodded to the little elf. "Kreacher works only for Hogwarts now," he said, his voice even lower and more froglike than I remembered. "Kreacher is no longer welcome at home. Master Harry's Mud-"

"Kreacher," warned Professor Snape.

"Sorry, Master Snape. Master Harry's  _fiancée_  says that Kreacher is not needed at Grimmauld Place anymore. She tried to give Kreacher," he paused and visibly shook before he said, " _clothes_."

I looked at Professor Snape when large tears started pouring out the elderly elf's protuberant eyes. "Why would she do something like that?" I asked. Anger started to pour into my veins as I thought of how many years Kreacher must have lived at the Black Home, dutifully serving multiple generations of the family as well as Harry, and the audacity of that idiotic know-it-all for trying to throw him out on one of his bat-like ears.

"Apparently she still maintains the necessity of the right of house elves, Miss Weasley, and thought it to be hypocritical that she would live in a home that still had one serving," the Professor said, idly looking at his fingernails. "Will you bring us tea, Kreacher, as well as some chocolate biscuits?"

"Yes, Master Snape." Kreacher cracked out the room loudly only to immediately return with the items requested, bowing to both of us. I was surprised his poor, little frail body didn't break in half with the action.

"Thank you, Kreacher. That will be all."

Kreacher bowed again and Disapparated with another crack.

"Did that bitch really give him clothes?" I asked, hastily grabbing a biscuit and shoving it in my mouth before I could say anything else more derogatory about Hermione. Professor Snape had very definite ideas about decorum and appropriate behavior.  I wasn't sure how he would take me swearing, even though I wanted to go to the Astronomy Tower and scream out my anger at her.

When he laughed, I relaxed, but decided not to push my luck.

"She tried, Miss Weasley, but Kreacher is too old and too perceptive to let her do it. When Harry realized what she was up to, he sent Kreacher here," he said, sipping his tea. He frowned. "I suppose he really sent him to the school, but Kreacher decided if he could not serve at Grimmauld Place that he would serve the Slytherin Head of House. I think if I ever left he would come right along with me."

"Why is that?" I asked.

Professor Snape shrugged. "For some reason Kreacher has always seemed to like me, even when I was a teenager and Regulus Black was vetting me to the Dark Lord." He frowned and started to tug on his sleeves, something I'd learned was a sign he was uncomfortable. "Let's not talk about such things, Miss Weasley. That topic of conversation is quite … unpleasant."

Even though was intrigued at the idea of learning more about the Professor's past – I knew so little about him, other than his friendship with Harry's mother – I just nodded in agreement and quickly changed the subject. "Why did you want to see me, sir?"

"We really haven't spoken about your work recently," he said as he slyly grabbed a couple of biscuits for himself after seeing how many I'd gobbled down. "I wanted to see how you felt about how you were doing."

"I think it's going better, sir. I enjoy helping the students; I really think that's what I do best, now that I know how to command their attention and respect," I said slowly. I contemplated the rest of my response before I spoke. "I like developing as well – you expressed your surprise at how well I devised the improvements on Burn Healing Paste."

"Poppy reports that the students who come in with minor burns are healing twice as fast. Your improvements to the original paste will be a breakthrough for its use," he said, giving me one of his rare smiles.

I beamed back at him. "Thank you, sir. Your praise actually means a lot to me."

"Why?" he asked. He cocked his head to the side as I tried to formulate an answer that wouldn't sound ridiculously school-girlish.

"Well, you are the greatest Potioneer in all of Europe," I said, carefully. "Praise from you is like getting a wand from Merlin himself."

He grimaced. "After the way I treated you, when I was Headmaster? My praise could be that important to you?"

I bit my lip and turned away to look at the crackling fire, trying not to think about the past too hard. "You stopped much of the worst of it, didn't you?"

"But I didn't stop all of it, did I?" he said so softly and gently that it made my heart hurt. I felt tears roll down my cheeks which I immediately rubbed away.

"Let's not talk about such things, sir," I said, now tugging my own sleeves. I looked up at his dull eyes, so dull today they almost looked devoid of life. "We can't change the past. The Carrows cursed me and hexed me for sport, as they did many other students. It's over now. Let's not dwell." I saw him nod out of the corner of my eye before as I sipped my tea.

"Would you like to go with me to Black Lake this afternoon before dinner?" he asked. "The Merpeople graciously provide me with Gillyweed for my private stores."

"Of course I would," I said. "Thank you for allowing me to go with you."

He smirked, and we finished our tea in relative silence before he motioned for me to leave his office with him. I watched him swallow a vial of his Throat Repair before removing the wards from his door.

"Sir?" I asked.

Professor Snape turned around before he opened the door. "Yes, Miss Weasley?"

I took a deep breath, and looked at the buttons on his chest. "I forgive you, sir," I said. I couldn't look up into his eyes. I'd contemplated letting him know that I, at least, had absolved him for his actions since that day in my office when I first saw this different side of him - this rare, gentle side that I liked so much. It made me wonder what kind of man he might have been if life had been kinder to him.

I heard his breath hitch in his chest. "You don't know what you are saying," he said in a whisper.

"I do," I said, almost as defiantly as I had been at sixteen. "I know exactly what I'm saying." I took a deep breath and looked up at his face. He looked completely blank, though he was breathing very fast as though he'd just run a marathon.

I started speaking again, and this time spoke the words from my heart. "I forgive you for your actions, as well as your inactions. I forgive you for cursing George by accident. I forgive you for bringing the Dementors to the school." I reached out and tried to take his hand, which he quickly pulled away. "It's for me, as much as it is for you. I  _was_  angry with you, for a long time. But now it's gone."

His eyebrows rushed together in a flurry of movement. "My actions brought the Dark Lord to this school. Physically brought him and the stalwart followers to these very grounds. Every single child who died in the Battle of Hogwarts was my responsibility – even your own brother. And still, you forgive me?" He looked as though he might be ill, his pale face turning an even more unflattering shade of white.

I again tried to touch his hand with mine and once more drew it back when he flinched. "You are not responsible for the actions of a maniac. And I still choose to forgive you, whether you are ready to hear it or not."

He leaned against the door and looked at the ceiling. Slowly, the color, or at least his regular pallor, returned to his face and his breathing slowed back to normal. He took a deep breath and sighed before he smirked at me. "Then I suppose I should forgive you for the Bat-Bogey Hex you cast on me during my opening remarks at the Welcoming Feast your sixth year."

I froze, trying to reconcile his change of countenance as well as the change of subject. I also couldn't figure out how he could have known it was me – I'd been too far away from him that night for him to have used Legilimency.

"You just told me," he said. He gave me a very subtle wink before opened the door for me to pass.

"We  _will_  talk about this one day, sir," I said as I walked out the door.

"Not if I can help it," he said, quietly following behind.


	5. Solace

I stared in the mirror in my bedroom, wondering why on Earth I'd let my mother and Professor Snape talk me into this.

It was November. And Harry was marrying Hermione today.

I hadn't visited my family since my arrival at Hogwarts, with needing to catch up on brewing. But, with our weekly Floo calls and the almost daily owls from my mother, my father, and at least one of my brothers, it felt as though I was not too far away from home. Even Fleur wrote to me regularly. I had suspected at first it was merely a way to improve her written English skills, but over time and a dozen or so letters, she and I finally seemed to develop a friendship, though I doubted we would ever be very close. She and I were so different in so many things in life, even before my accident.

In the last few weeks, however, I'd received no less than eight owls daily from my family requesting that I attend the ceremony. "Closure" is what my mother called it. "A family event" is what Ron called the affair, Merlin love his daft brain. Bill's eloquent notes said it would be "a needed and welcome end to a sad chapter of my life."

But it was Professor Snape's insistence, along with my mother's now daily Floo calls, that caused me to finally give in. He all but marched into my office two weeks ago with his invitation, already marked with a "plus one" designation, and said, "If I have to go through with this slow form of torture, then I will require your presence with me." With that, he stormed out, leaving me sputtering with unsaid words. That, and my mother's boundless persistence, finally made me accept the inevitable.

Professor Snape had sent me to Madam Malkin’s the previous weekend to find new dress robes when he realized my only set was second hand and was last worn at my graduation from Hogwarts. With Madam Malkin's keen eye, I found a set of silk, mint green robes that made me feel very grown up. I knew I needed that reinforcement for the dreaded day, and apparently Professor Snape had sensed that as well. Not for the first time, I was thankful for the luxuries he had decided to afford me.

In the mirror before me, thirty minutes before we were due to arrive at Grimmauld Place for the small ceremony, I looked at the young woman staring back at me in the mirror. I'd applied make-up, something I rarely did but felt like I needed today. My hair was gathered low on my neck in a series of interwoven braids. My dress, delivered at the last minute this morning by five rather put out looking barn owls, made me feel like I could take on the day, as long as I had Professor Snape standing with me.

We'd become closer in the last month, since the day I forgave him and told him I'd let go of my anger towards him. I felt I could speak my mind to him, and often I did. I never knew how he would take my words. I'd always had this mind set of him as a severe man devoid of a real personality. Little by little, he let me in to see the person he was underneath. He was right when he described himself during my interview. He was not the easiest person to converse with, until you figured out how to converse with him. Then, you could see glimmers of potential underneath it all, a shy laugh and smile he'd give when I said something out of turn, a kind soft word when something set off one of my buttons and he sensed I was struggling with needing to escape to my room and my Little Bag.

I heard a distant knock along with the slight trilling of my wards.

It was time to go, whether I was ready or not.

I opened the door and saw Professor Snape dressed in his own dark dress robes. They strongly resembled his teaching robes down to the severity of the cut and the length of the sleeves, but the wool was richer and heavier.

I smiled up at him, trying very hard not to be ill with the thought of where we were going.

"Are you ready?" he asked, brushing some invisible lint off of his travelling cloak as he scanned my appearance.

"Almost," I said. "I actually need your help with something, sir."

"And what would that be?"

I sighed and blushed despite myself. "I need you to cast a Concealment Charm on my shoulder. There's a group scars there that the dress doesn't cover."

He looked at me with a little irritation. "Didn't Professor Flitwick teach you those your third year?" he asked with mild contempt.

"Yes, sir, he did. However, my wand will no longer cast them for obvious reasons," I said, a little exasperated.

"Of course, Miss Weasley. I wasn't thinking," he said. He laid his cloak across my desk and pulled his wand from his sleeve. "Where are these scars?"

"The left side of my back, midway between my neck and the tip of my shoulder. You'll see them," I said, tensing a little. His sharp intake of breath when he did broke through the silence of the room.

"Who did this to you?" he hissed. I could feel the heat of his hand over my skin, though he was very careful not to touch me.

"Alecto Carrow," I said, closing my eyes against the memories.

"How many times did she use the Cruciatus curse on you, Miss Weasley?" he asked softly.

I bit my lip and stifled the cry that threatened to leave my lips when the memory of that night came back to me full force. "Ten. It was the night you found out that I had recalled Dumbledore's Army and that we were meeting again in the Room of Requirement."

He placed his hands on my shoulders. The comforting warmth contrasted sharply with the coolness of the room, making me tremble. 

"Azkaban was too good for her and her brother, Miss Weasley. I'm very sorry," he said, his voice almost inaudible.

"I know, sir," I said. "That's why you are already forgiven. As are they," I added.

His hands squeezed my shoulders tightly when I spoke those last words, making me wish I could see his face. "Why them?" he asked harshly.

"Because it's no use to be angry with the dead, for one," I said. "It's time to let go of my anger, so why  _not_  forgive? Isn't that the reason I'm going to the wedding, after all? To let go and move on?"

He sniffed and enigmatically as ever simply said, "Perhaps."

My skin tingled as he cast the charm.  It spread over the small starburst scars that made my shoulder look almost pockmarked in the light. When I turned back around, his back was to me as he gathered his cloak and replaced his wand in his sleeve.

"Are you ready now that I've attended to your feminine wiles?" he asked before he turned back around to face me.

"Yes, I am," I said, retrieving my cloak from the hanger behind my desk. I saw a picture of Fred waving to me, and impulsively I waved back to him.

"Ginny?" Professor Snape asked. I was startled by him using my given name, something he had never done in my entire life.

"Sir?" I answered as I turned, peering at his face, which was as blank and bleak as ever.

"If I asked you to do something, would you do it?" His eyes lost their dull sheen momentarily as he looked down at me, a brief fire flashing.  But then he blinked, and his eyes were dull, black pools once more.

"I would try," I said, as honestly as I could.

"Will you stop using the contents of the bag in your room on yourself?"

I drew in a deep breath through my nose. "What if I can't?" I asked. It was hard for me to imagine ever not doing it, it had become part of my life for so long.

"Will you let me help you if you can't?" he said.

I looked at the fire in the hearth while my mind raced with thoughts. My family had always danced around the subject of my "little problem", except for George of course, but that was done in a mocking jest. Even at St. Mungo's, the Healers had talked around the problem and taken for granted that it would stop, since I wasn't doing it there.  I didn’t have the tools to stop – I only had the tools to continue, stowed away in my bag in my room.

“But, what if-“

"You can, Miss Weasley," he said, speaking in that soft and gentle voice that made my stomach flip and my heart ache. "You are stronger than you have ever realized. More than _anyone_ has ever realized."

I sighed, trying very hard not to cry. "I'll try," I said. "That's all I can promise."

"Then that's enough," he said. He led me back to his office, where the Floo had been connected to the one in Grimmauld Place. "Are you ready?" he asked.

"No," I admitted. "But let's go anyway."

He smirked and threw a handful of Floo powder into the fire. "Ladies first," he said with mock solemnity.

I gathered my skirts and stepped in. "Number Twelve Grimmauld Place," I said, and myself spin like a top until my feet touched the ground as I was launched out of the fireplace and into the kitchen at Harry's home.

"Ginny!" my mother's voice called out to me from the far side of the kitchen.

I looked around and couldn’t help but smile. 

Molly Weasley was completely in her element. There was food literally on every surface that could hold it. I hadn't realized Harry had asked her to cook for the event, though she'd so enjoyed preparing for Bill and Fleur's wedding that in hindsight it shouldn’t have surprised me. 

Mum took off her lacy white apron, revealing that she had dressed in her best bright magenta dress robes. She looked like she should have been the parent of the bride or groom, though she was, really, for both Harry and Hermione. Hermione had not yet been able to locate her parents after the war – the Confundus had misfired at some point and the last time I'd spoken with her civilly, she thought they could be in Austria instead of Australia, but could not trace them under the alias she'd given them.  They were both orphans now, of sorts, adopted into our family.

Family indeed. They would be my family now, whether I was ready for it or not.  My father would be giving Hermione away, and Ron would be Harry's best man.

Mum squeezed me in a tight, smothering embrace just as I heard the whirling sound of Professor Snape Flooing in behind me.

"Severus!" she said, calling out to him from over my shoulder. Mum let me go and walked over to give him a hug as well. He looked impossibly uncomfortable when she finally released him, though he gave her his customary gracious bow.

My parents were, and would always be, the kind of people who always wanted to see and believe the good in others.  They were one of the first to welcome him back after Harry divulged the contents of the memories Professor Snape gave to him. The memories from the Pensieve, as well as specific letters sent to key Ministry Officials, including my father, from Professor Dumbledore with instructions to open them only after the end of the war were key in his exoneration and eventual celebration as a hero. My father was the first one to bring forth his letter and testify while Professor Snape was recovering at St. Mungo's.

"Oh, Severus, thank you for convincing Ginny to come," mother said, wiping her eyes a little before she turned to look at me again. "I know how hard it is for you dear, but you needed to be here."

I nodded, until I saw Professor Snape frown at me out of the corner of my eye. I spoke up. "I know, Mum. I think I understand why, now. I didn't before."

"Ginny!" I heard my father's happy voice behind me, and I turned around for a hug. "Good for you," he whispered in my ear before he let me go to shake Professor Snape's hand.

"Arthur," the Professor said.

"Thank you, Severus," my dad said. Professor Snape just nodded slightly and returned his eyes to me.

"Why don't you take a place out by the stairs? It should start soon. They're going to have the ceremony on the first floor landing, while we watch below," Mum said while casting Stasis Charms on the food.

"What about her Highness," I said, thinking of the portrait of Mrs. Black that was stuck there with a Permanent Sticking Charm.

My father grinned. "Hermione found a Muggle alternative to the Charm."

"What's that?" Professor Snape asked curiously.

"Muggle machinery called a ‘chainsaw’. She simply removed the wall and built a new one. And she gave me the chainsaw to keep. Marvelous contraption, even though it doesn't have a plug," Dad said proudly.

That made the Professor laugh out loud. I found out what a chainsaw was, later, and laughed myself when he told me what she must have done.

The three of us walked out to the entrance hall. It was to be a small ceremony, mostly friends of school as well as some friends of theirs from their perspective offices at the Ministry. I smiled and waved at Neville, Luna, and Lee who had already taken spots closer to the foot of the stairs. Professor Snape steered me to the back and away from most of the crowd, for which I was grateful.  Before we could get there I felt a hand on my elbow.  Looking up, I met a pair of bottle green eyes that were once as familiar to me as my own.

"Ginny, can I speak with you alone for a moment?" Harry asked.

I looked back to Professor Snape, who frowned but nodded.

Harry led me to the sitting room that still held the Black Family Tree. Hermione was there, waiting for us. She looked as beautiful as she did the night of the Yule Ball in her ivory, velvet robes. I stiffened until I felt a dark presence behind me, and I knew Professor Snape had followed us and was standing with me.

Harry looked up at him. "We wanted to speak to Ginny alone, Mr. Snape," he said.

"Two against one is hardly a fair equation, Mr. Potter, even if it is your wedding day," the Professor said dryly.

Harry nodded. "I guess you're right."

"What do you want, Harry?" I asked, finding my voice.

"We wanted –" Harry looked back to Hermione, who stood forward and took his hand.

"We wanted to make sure you were okay, Ginny," Hermione said, ever assertive in her tone. "And I wanted to make sure that you didn't hate us." She looked at Harry, and when she looked back at me she had tears in her eyes. "I'm so sorry that you've been so hurt. I know things will never be as it was between us, and that we may never get to be friends again like we were. I'm not sorry that I fell in love with Harry and him with me," she said, looking back at Harry and smiling, "But I deeply regret what happened to you afterwards. I think we could have done a better job of taking care of you and making sure you were okay. I'm sorry for that, Ginny."

"As am I," said Harry, grabbing my hand with his free one.

I knew I had a choice to make. I could either back into my shell, as I wanted to, or I could choose to be my parent's daughter and love.

I leaned back slightly, just enough to feel the Professor's warmth. "I forgive you," I said.

Hermione took my other hand in her own and smiled as she squeezed it. 

She had been right, of course.  It never would be the same between us, as it had been when Harry was mine and we were all best friends in school. But, at least for now, the past was behind us.

"If you aren't all done with this idiotically touching scene, I believe you may make yourself late to your own wedding," Professor Snape said. I couldn't see him roll his eyes and sneer, but I knew it was exactly what he was doing as he watched us.

Harry frowned at him as he let go of my hand. "Thanks, sir, as always." He looked at Hermione. "Ready?"

"Yes," she said, grinning as she Apparated out of the room.

"Your mother would slap both of us if she knew we'd seen each other before we hand fasted," Harry explained.

"That she would," I said. Professor Snape led me out of the room, to the back of the small crowd where we were going to stand before. I felt his hand sit lightly on my waist as music began to fill the entryway.

"Bravo," he whispered into my ear.

I nodded, as there really was nothing more to say.

* * *

 

I took a deep breath and a leap of faith that night when I got back to my room at Hogwarts, and Vanished my Little Bag.

And though I continue to struggle with the need to do so, I have never made another one.


	6. Punishment

It was later the next week that things changed completely.

There'd been an odd tension between us since we got back from the wedding. I wondered if it'd been my admission to the severity of my punishment with Alecto Carrow that sent him into a silent, dark mood. He was edgy, and it seemed like every single thing I did was wrong, whether in truth or just in his perception. It made me feel like I was nothing more than a little second year again, and though I didn't like the treatment, I certainly didn't want to make it worse by asking him why he was acting like a complete and utter bastard.

It happened when I was in his private lab, brewing Draught of Peace for the hospital wing while he was working on his own project – he was trying to increase the effectiveness of Skele-gro and so far had not been successful. When my cauldron began to spew grey muck I realized I'd been so distracted by his mood that I'd made a very basic mistake by forgetting to lower the temperature of the cauldron before adding the hellebore. Now I did feel like a second year, as this was such a basic potion that I should have been brewing it blindfolded, in my sleep, with my hands tied behind my back.

When the fine hairs on the back of my neck stood on end I almost groaned – I knew he’d seen the mess and was watching me. His disgust was palpable.

"Miss Weasley," he said, walking up behind me. "What, pray tell, did you do wrong _this_ time?"

"I forgot to lower the flame," I said softly, like I would have done at the beginning of the term.

"What was that? I'm sorry, but I couldn't hear you in this completely silent room with the absence of any noise threatening to overpower your non-existent voice," he sneered.

"I forgot to lower the flame, sir," I said, louder this time.

"You forgot to lower the flame," he repeated. "You just wasted fifty galleons of my ingredients, because you didn't do what?"

"Follow the instructions," I said lamely before I looked at him. The anger radiating off of him frightened me, making me freeze solidly in place.

I heard him take a breath. "You make me regret hiring you more and more with every mistake you make. Careless, stupid mistakes could cost a student their life," he said, his voice deceptively calm. "Did you ever think about that?"

"No," I admitted, ashamed. I probably had realized it, somewhere in my mind. But I hadn't pondered on it enough for me to take it as seriously has I should have.

"You should be brewing this without supervision. Why should I trust you to do it correctly from now on, or even trust that you brewed the previous ones correctly?" he asked.

I couldn't answer. He had a very valid point, and I knew he was right.

He flicked his wand at the dungeon door. It shut with a loud bang, the lock clicking firmly into place as his wards settled around the perimeters of the room.

"Put your hands on the desk in front of you." He summoned a copy of  _Magical Drafts and Potions,_ and it opened to page 209. "Lean forward, place you nose as close as you can to the textbook, and look at the instructions," he said.

I did as I was told and leaned forward, looking at the page in front of me.

"Read it, out loud," he said.

"To brew the Draught of Peace, follow these steps: To a standard potions base, add powdered moonstone until the potion turns green," I recited.

I felt the sharp sting on my arse, the sound of the strike of his hand fading in the silence of the room, before I realized what he had done.

Professor Snape had just spanked me like a naughty child.

Tears pricked my eyes, sliding down my cheeks and neck in a cool trail as I turned my head around and looked at him.

His face was calm, controlled, and almost concerned.

"Continue," he commanded. His eyes were glittering like they used to, before the end of the war.

Instead of running away, like I would have done when I first came back, I merely nodded. Looking back at the textbook, I leaned further down on the desk and continued.

"Stir seven times clockwise, then seven times anti-clockwise and wait seven minutes, until the potion turns blue, adding powdered moonstone until the potion turns purple."

Another spank, on the other cheek. I gasped at the pain, feeling the good hard sting of his hand on my wool-covered skin.

"Go on."

I nodded again, my breath hitching a little before I continued. "Allow to simmer for seven minutes until the potion turns pink, lower the temperature and add syrup of hellebore and stir seven times clockwise, then seven times anti-clockwise, until the potion turns turquoise."

"Don't stop," he said.

He started spanking me without waiting for the breaks in between steps. Over and over I felt his hand sting my skin, switching sides and changing positions until every inch of my backside had been touched.

"Allow to simmer for seven minutes until the potion turns purple. Shake powdered porcupine quills vigorously until they are ready and then add until the potion turns red. Stir seven times clockwise, then seven times anti-clockwise until the potion turns orange. Add more porcupine quills and stir seven times clockwise, then seven times anti-clockwise until the potion turns turquoise. Allow to simmer till the potion turns purple. Add powdered unicorn horn and stir seven times clockwise, then seven times anti-clockwise until the potion turns pink. Allow to simmer until the potion turns purple. Add more powdered moonstone and stir seven times clockwise, then seven times anti-clockwise until the potion turns grey. Allow the potion to simmer until it turns orange. Add more syrup of hellebore and stir seven times clockwise, then seven times anti-clockwise until the potion turns white."

He continued past the point that I had finished reading, spanking harder and faster until he collapsed over me, his hands covering mine. I lifted my hands against his, letting our fingers lace together.  His breaths came in heavy pants against my neck, matching the rhythm of my own shallower ones.  Though his body was completely rigid, I was boneless for the first time that could remember.

I arched my body against his, seeking the warmth I’d felt the day of the wedding, but froze when I felt his hot erection against the small my back. I moved away from it quickly as my mind became overrun with thoughts.

Was that the end game of this?

Would he want to fuck me, now that he had rendered me senseless?

_Who had he done this with before?_

But he did not make any sexual advance towards me. Instead, he drew me into his arms and pulled me down to the floor with him. Holding me very gently, he patted my back and stroked my hair while he whispered to me how brave I was, how intelligent I was, how much I'd grown since I came back to school.

I nestled myself into his comforting warmth and hummed a tuneless song as his words washed over me like a sweet, soothing balm. When I looked into his still glittering eyes, and saw my own bright eyes reflected in them.

I realized, for the first time in years, I felt alive.

And my skin was still intact.

"Ginny?" he asked softly, in that voice I'd started to crave.

"Sir?" I replied.

"Are you upset about what I've done?" he asked. He stroked a stray piece of my hair from my face.

"No," I said. I meant it.

He closed his eyes and hummed an agreement. "Good," he said.

"Sir?" I asked.

"Hmmm," he responded lazily.

"Have you ever done this before?"

Professor Snape opened his eyes and regarded me briefly before he shook his head and spoke the word I'd wanted to hear.

"No," he said, closing his eyes again.

"Good," I said and laid my head back on his chest, closing my eyes with relief.  For some unexplainable reason, I wanted this to be something that only he and I had shared.

We sat there like that for an age until he spoke again. "I want you to get up and brew your potion again. And I want the ingredient list and instructions for your next new potion on my desk by Christmas." He removed me from his lap and stood. "Am I clear?" he said, holding out a hand to help me up.

"Yes, sir," I said. I took his hand and stood, looking back at the mess. I Vanished the contents of the cauldron and began again.

I refused to think about what happened between us while I was brewing. Indeed, I couldn't. My mind was still, as though I'd just had a dose of the same Draught I was brewing.

When I was finished, I brought it to his office for inspection. He looked up at me, blankly, his eyes flat again when he looked from me to the potion.

"Do you really need me to examine it?" he asked before returning to the parchments he had been marking. He dipped his quill in the deep, crimson red ink and made a long gash.

I shook my head, but continued to stand in front of his desk.

"What?" he barked when he realized I had not left.

"Will I have to find a new Apprenticeship?" I asked.

"No," he said after a beat, and shook his head. "I do not 'grade' any of your work. As you have seen I am more of a guide. As long as your work is sound and you pass your exams, the society will not interfere if a Master becomes … involved with their Apprentice. It was a decision I made when I was our Chief Warlock," he said before dismissing me with a curt nod as he went back to his parchments.

Relieved, I nodded and returned to the classroom to bottle my work. I delivered the new stock to Madam Pomphrey myself, then walked back to my quarters to ready myself for dinner.

When I raised my skirts and looked in the bathroom mirror, I saw the red stain where his hands had been, still very clearly marking my milky white skin. I laid my own hands over them, imagining his hands were under mine, and sighed happily.

* * *

 

It started out as punishment for my mistakes – misspelled words on my essays, mismarked papers when I helped him grade student work, though I made sure never to make an error with a potion again.

Professor Snape would call me into his office after his last class and commence with pointing out every single mistake I'd made that day.  Then he would spank me until my body screamed in pain, leaving me completely soft and limp in his firm hands. Afterwards, he would hold me just as he had that first time.

In his arms, I felt more at peace than I'd ever felt in my life.

By the winter holidays, he no longer needed a reason, for I'd stopped making mistakes altogether.

But still, every afternoon between his last class and before dinner, I would go to his office and place my hands on his desk, lean forward, and wait for him to touch me.


	7. Connection

I hadn't been home since the beginning of the school year and was desperate to return to the Burrow for the Christmas holidays. Students were no longer allowed to stay over the holidays as the War brought on a stronger sentiment of family, and I felt I should be allowed the freedom to do so as well, given that I was a student, though not in the strictest sense of the word.

Professor Snape, however, had other ideas of how I should spend my time.

"I forbid it," he said when I told him of my plans the day before the students left. "You should have cleared this with me months ago. You need to be brewing  _without_  interruption. I wouldn't want you to come back as careless as you came to me," he said mockingly. He patted his desk, inviting me to lean in.

I shook my head and pouted, even though I knew it was unbecoming. "I miss my mother, Sir. And my father. I even miss George. It will only be for a week," I said with a sigh. "I'll be back to brew for one completely uninterrupted week before the students return."

"Four days," he said, voice clipped and cold. He rubbed the spot on his desk where my body normally hovered when we did what we did. Just the thought of it made my skin tingle.

"Six days," I said, pleading now.

"Five days," he said as he cleared off the top of his desk.

"Five days," I said, victorious. Five days was all I thought that I could stand away from the castle anyways. I'd aimed for a week so that he wouldn't bargain down to three days.

"You will leave on the twenty-first, and return here no later than ten forty-five on the twenty sixth. And you will eat as you have been here. If you miss a meal, or don't eat enough, I'll know," he said as he motioned again.

I nodded and leaned, ready for him.

* * *

 

He walked with me to the Apparation Point outside the Main Gate the next day.

"You could come have Christmas with us, Sir, if you would like," I said before I could stop myself.

He looked at me like I'd just grown two heads. I looked at the ground between us, embarrassed now at the offer.

Who would want to spend Christmas at the overcrowded Burrow other than a Weasley, when Hogwarts was an option?

He knew of my discomfort, of course. With the tip of his finger, he lifted my chin until my eyes met his.

"I have something for you," he said, removing a small box from his pocket.

"And I for you," I said, flushing as I gave him a similar box from the pocket of my own robe.

"Open mine first," he said softy.

In the box was a silver cuff. Ancient runes, one of the classes that I did not take, were stamped onto the metal. On the clasp was a small, dark emerald. I clicked it shut around my wrist with satisfaction.

"It's beautiful, sir. Thank you," I said as I looked into his eyes. They sparked with life when he produced a small key from his pocket. He locked the bracelet around my wrist with it – there was a small lock in the clasp so discreetly made that I hadn't noticed it.

"Don't ever take it off, unless I direct you to do so specifically," he said. Even though the spell to unlock the bracelet was simple, I knew I would never take it off. Even _if_ he asked.

"Did you study ancient runes?" he asked, watching for my response.

I looked at the bracelet and shook my head. "I hate to say I didn't. What does it say, Sir?"

"It's just your name, Miss Weasley," he said, not meeting my eyes.

"Open mine," I said.

He smiled a little boy's eager smile as he shook the box gently before he opened it. He stared at the contents for a long time before he removed the bracelet I had purchased for him.

"Great minds think alike," I whispered as I watched him run his fingers over the thin gold cuff and the small garnet set in the center.

"Put it on me," he said.

I unbuttoned the sleeve on his left arm and pushed it up until I saw the pale, narrow skin of his wrist. I took the cuff from him and placed it around his wrist, absently rubbing the skin where his thumb met his hand.

"Thank you, Miss Weasley," he said. He buttoned his sleeves back to the wrist, but I saw him caress my gift to him through fabric separated his fingers from the cool metal.

"Ten forty-five," I said, looking into his deep, fathomless eyes.

"On the twenty sixth," he finished.

I nodded and winked before I picked my bag up and Disapparated.

* * *

 

The Burrow looked no different than it had in August, though I supposed the only time I had seen it look any different was during Bill's wedding. The Christmas tree twinkled gaily in the front bay window. Dad had decorated the whole outside of the house with magically lit fairy lights this year as well, something Mum only let him get away with when she was in a very good mood indeed.

"Mum? Dad?" I said as I opened the door.

"Ginny!" I heard her squeal from the kitchen. She ran out to hug me tightly. Dad grinned up at me from the dining room table as I peeked out from her shoulder.

"Mum, you're smothering me," I said, my voice muffled from being forced into her robes.

"I'm just so glad to see you, dear," she said. "Let me get a good look at you."

It had only been just over a month since I'd seen her at the wedding, but she'd never seen me in my new clothes. She stepped back from me and studied my regular working attire – today my severely cut jacket was deep green, and I wore a heavy traveling cloak that was fashionably tailored. She fingered my rusty hair, which was still up in a chignon that I continued to favor over any other style.

"You look so grown up. Doesn't she, Arthur?" she called to my father.

"That she does," Dad said. "You look even healthier than you did last month, Ginny. Did you gain a little more weight back?"

I nodded.

"Enjoying all that good food at Hogwarts?" he asked with a chuckle.

When I giggled in response, my mother glanced back at me at me in surprise. She'd looked so happy at Harry and Hermione's wedding, but now that her face was completely calm and we were alone at home, I realized that the stamp, as well as the fear, was still there. I realized that she would never lose the look of someone who'd had to bury a child and had killed another human being to protect another. But the fear I knew I could fix.

I led her into the kitchen, to her favorite part of the house, where she always felt safe and happy. 

"Mummy," I said holding her hand in mine. "You don't have to be afraid for me anymore. I really think I'm going to be alright. I even got rid of my supplies."

Her eyebrows furrowed, tears sparkling in her bright, brown eyes.

“I think I’m okay now.”

"Truly?" she asked, wiping the tears that were now running down her cheeks.

"Truly," I said, smiling at her. I held her while she burst into tears. I was soft enough now to offer comfort to her, even though some of my stiffness remained. Maybe that would be the stamp that would remain with me.

"What is all this fussing about?" asked my Dad, poking his head into the kitchen.

"Gin's going to be alright," Mum cried.

I looked at Dad and saw tears fill his as well, though he blinked them away before they could fall.

"Of course she's going to be alright," he said to me as he held us both. "I knew you could come back, sweetie."

"I'm glad someone knew," I said, my voice muffled between their big bear hugs.

When all the tears had finally dried, my mother decided that she needed to go back to her preparations, and my father returned to his copy of the Daily Prophet at the dining room table. I walked to my little bedroom at the foot of the stairs, bag in tow. Laying down on my bed, I rolled up my sleeve to look at my bracelet. I rubbed the stone in the clasp, as well as every rune that was stamped into the metal until the shapes were as familiar to me as the freckles on my nose.

The knock on my door pulled me out of my thoughts.

"Ginny?" It was my mother. It was the first time she'd knocked on my door that I could ever remember.

"Come in," I said, though I didn't move other than to pull my sleeve back down.

She walked in, hands behind her back.

"I want you to have this, dear," she said, bringing her hands around to show me a small velvet box. "They belonged to your great Aunt Tessie, and I've been saving them for you until you were grown. Which, I guess you are now," she said, sniffling.

I took the box and opened it. It contained a pair of silver earrings.

"Goblin made," she said, motioning me to put them on. I sat up and did so, then stood and looked at myself in the mirror. The earrings were simple, thin silver hoops that swayed gently when I moved. They were simply beautiful.

"Thank you Mum," I said, hugging her again.

She hugged me hard as she whispered, "It feels so good to have my girl back."

When she left my room, I looked at the walls, still lined with Weird Sisters posters and pictures of the Holyhead Harpies. I hadn't even flown since I left school.

Was I back? I wasn't really sure. I wasn’t the same girl that had lived in this room for the twenty years before my stay at St. Mungo's. But, maybe that wasn't the point. I closed my eyes and thought of who I was now, and the woman I was becoming.

A Little Snape with a Gryffindor's heart.

The thought made me warm inside, as did the image of Professor Snape’s sparkling eyes and remembering the sound of his voice when he held me earlier this morning.

I Vanished all the posters and pictures. When I could see the bright pink wall underneath, I cast a charm that changed the color of my room and bedspread to a soft green. I laid back on the bed and smiled.

* * *

 

We didn't expect him to show up at all.

I mentioned to Mum that it was a possibility, and since she always cooked to feed a group of growing boys (though the boys were all grown now and complaining of getting soft) she said it would be no trouble to put out one more plate.

Professor Snape appeared on Christmas Day at no later than ten forty-five, as though he had planned on being there the whole time.

I was sitting in between George and Ron, staving off an incoming fight over who was going to have the first piece of roast when the meal was served, when we heard the knock on the door. We almost comically looked around the room to see if everyone was accounted for. Every Weasley, as well as Harry and Hermione, were present.

"Maybe its Fred," George said. I smacked the back of his head as hard as I dared.

"Prat," I hissed at him. "Don't let Mum hear you say that, or do you want to see her cry today?"

"Glad to see you've maintained your sense of humor, Ginny," he said, rubbing his head. When Ron starting laughing at him, I gave him the same slap.

"Ow, Gin. He was only kidding," Ron said.

I stood up and walked to the door. I was wearing my Christmas jumper, this year bright blue with a "G" in the center like always, along with my pair of denims that now fit a little too snug with the weight I gained back. I'd skipped breakfast since I got home, hoping that maybe a few days with one less meal would let them fit a little looser again.

When I opened the door, Professor Snape was standing there, his black traveling cloak flecked white with the falling snow.

"Sir," I said, smiling up at him. He looked at me as though he was hungry for my face.

"Miss Weasley," he said.

We stood there, staring at each other until my father came to the door.

"Ginny, it's too cold out there to stand there with the door open," he said, scolding me before he saw our guest.

"Severus, glad you could make it," he said. He took the Professor's hand and shook it hard, smiling as he welcomed him in the door. I shut it quickly, then walked over to the fire to warm my bare feet.

"Molly? He came!"

"Who came, Arthur?" said mother, walking out of the kitchen. She was dressed in a bright orange sweater that matched my fathers, the "M" and "A" standing out merrily in white. "Good gracious, Severus, welcome! We thought you were staying at Hogwarts," she said, pulling out a chair for him to sit. He looked back to me as he sat down, taking an offered cup of tea from my mother.

"I had a slight change of plans," he said, his eyes roaming over me. "It seems Hogwarts is not the same without the students there for the holidays." He smirked.

"Mr. Snape," George said from across the table, rubbing the spot where his ear had once been. I groaned, knowing that the Professor would be in for another round of my brother's ribbing. "We haven't  _heard_  much from you lately since Harry and Hermy's wedding. We thought maybe we were  _missing_  something, or that maybe little sister was giving you fits. You know how  _holey_  she can be. Does she give you an  _ear_ full every time she shows up to the lab?" he finished, trying hard not to laugh.

Professor Snape pulled at the fabric of his sleeves and glowered slightly.

I walked up to George and smacked him again. "Git!" I hissed into his good ear.

"Sorry, Gin, I couldn't hear you over the ringing in my head from all the abuse you've been heaping on to me. And you call yourself my little sister? Honestly, woman?" he huffed in mock horror before smiling at me and giving me a sly wink.

"Careful George," said Bill, who was sitting with Fleur by the fire. "You don't want to wake the Harpy."

I looked at Professor Snape, watching him stealthily examine the curves of my body. I froze when he frowned, then closed my eyes when I realized my mistake.

He knew.

"Miss Weasley, may I speak with you alone?" he asked.

I nodded. "Is it about my new potion?"

"Yes," he said, narrowing his eyes at me. "It got a little temperamental with your absence."

"Is it the potion or Ginny you are talking abo- ouch!" Charlie said, rubbing his head where my father boxed his ear.

"We can talk in my room," I said, showing him the way. When we were inside, he locked the door and set wards, including a muffling charm.

He looked over my body again more openly, now that we were in private. I felt his eyes caress me like I wanted his hands to. I'd missed him to the point that I was trembling with the need to have him touch me.

"You've been skipping meals," he said softly.

I nodded, unable to lie to him.

"How many?" he asked.

"Breakfast, since I got back," I said. I rubbed my bracelet though the sweater. I watched him stroke the spot where his own lay under his coat.

"Pull down your jeans and put your elbows on the bed, nose as far to the coverlet as you can," he said, so soft I could barely hear him.

My hands trembled as I unzipped my jeans and pulled them down. He'd never asked this of me, though I understood why as I touched the thick material of the denim. He wanted it to hurt, and the denim cloth would only soften the blows. I remembered that I’d worn a pretty, lace pair of white knickers this morning and thanked Merlin that it hadn't been the gray, spotted pair I saved for laundry days.

I leaned over the bed and waited for him.

Slowly, he took off his coat, then unbuttoned the sleeves of his shirt and slowly rolled them up to his elbows.

"Miss Weasley, what exactly did you do wrong again?" he asked, not touching me yet.

I quivered at the sound of his voice. "I didn't follow your instructions, Sir."

When his hand descended on my almost bare skin for the first time, I jumped away from him. The sting was exquisitely sharp, much more so than our previous encounters.

"Not so fast," he said. He pushed me down with a free hand, holding me in place on the bed when he delivered the next spank, but this time I did not jump too far from him. By the third one I stayed still and waited for him to continue.

"Good girl," he said softly. He took his hand away from the small of my back and continued with my spanking. The sound of skin on skin, as he slapped the bare skin of the back of my thighs as well as my arse, was erotic in the eerie quiet of my muffled room.

Unwillingly, my thoughts went to my parents, not twenty feet away from us, unaware that I was being punished for taking liberties with my instructions.

What would they think of their little girl?

"Stop it," he said, continuing to spank my lace covered skin. "Let go, Ginny."

I focused on the sensation of his hands as they struck me and let myself go, feeling free and open and alive. My insides quaked as he continued, switching hands now so that he could spank me even harder. I let myself soar into the quiet of my mind as I listened to the sound of his hand meet my skin. He pulled my knickers down at some point; I was too unfocused to pinpoint when it had happened, nor when he had started to alternate between spanking me and caressing my bare skin.

When he was done, and he sat on the bed and pulled me to him, cradling me into the warmth of his body. He rocked me, scolding me for skipping meals.

"I like you rounder and soft," Professor Snape said as he laced my fingers with his as he told me how beautiful my skin was when he marked it pink with his hand. I realized it was the first time he had seen the fruits of his labors.

Very carefully, I laid myself across his lap, bottom up, so that he could examine me. He sighed as he barely touched the skin that I knew was bright pink and red not only from the force of his hand, but also from my growing arousal. I could feel him, hard and impossibly large, on my belly, when he touched me, just barely tracing the seam of my arse from the small of my back down.

I moaned softly when his hand dipped lower, almost reaching my tingling core.

He cleared his throat, his hand gone as though it had never been there. "They'll be missing us, soon."

I nodded and stood on shaking legs, pulling my knickers and denims back into place.

"Put on some proper clothes," he said. "A black dress, if you have one, but any dress will do. Long sleeves and nothing below the knee. And tonight, you will eat two servings of dessert to make up for missing breakfast. In fact, you will do so until I say otherwise."

"Yes, Sir," I said.

He remained sitting on my bed as I turned to look for the clothes he requested me to wear.  I found a dress exactly like the one he described in the back of my wardrobe, and a pair of stocking in my chest of drawers.  Looking over my shoulder at Professor Snape, I began to blush as I caught his eyes. They were so bright, so wild and almost feral.

“Don’t let me stop you from changing clothes, Miss Weasley.”

Slowly, I removed my jumper, gooseflesh rising on my skin from the cool air of the room.  When I removed my denims, and was clad only in my bra and knickers, I looked at him again, wanting to see what I looked like in his eyes.  The look of wonder there, mixed with possession and something very much like pride, made my breath catch in my throat and the blush return fiercely.

“May I dress, Sir?” I whispered, seeking his permission.

Reluctantly, he nodded, sighing a little when I reached for my dress and pulled it on.  I put on the stockings with it, and a pair of black, low heeled shoes that I hadn't worn since school. I turned to the mirror to fix my hair, brushing it out, as I had not put it up today, not yet at least. I did so now, sweeping it up in a twist before I put on the earrings Mum gave me before Christmas.

When I looked at my own eyes in the mirror, they were bright as they had been when I was still a NEWT student. My hair looked like fire again in the light of my room, and my skin glowed from good nutrition and the vitamin potions Professor Snape gave me every week.  For the first time since before Harry and I ended our relationship, I almost felt …

The scent of the potions and wood smoke drifted to my nose, the warmth of his body very close to mine.  He reached around me, touching my wrist, letting his fingers skim over my bracelet.

“You are a beautiful woman, Ginny,” Professor Snape said.

I bit my lip and felt my ears turn red, unused to praise from any man.  Harry hadn’t been one to compliment me much on my appearance, and neither had Dean or any of the other boys I’d briefly dated.  Shaking my head, I looked down at the floor and away from the mirror.

“I want to hear you say it,” he said.

I shook my head again, still refusing to look up.

“Miss Weasley,” he said, his voice a warning.

I didn’t mean to cry, but when I met his black eyes in the mirror my own had filled with tears.  “I’m beautiful,” I whispered, hoping he wouldn’t push me to speak any louder.

He didn’t – he merely nodded with satisfaction as he continued to stroke to bracelet on my wrist.

"We really do need to get back, Sir.  You'll have to step out first, or else they'll know you were watching me," I said as I wiped my eyes.

He quickly left the room, looking back at me once as I continued to consider just how much had changed since I’d become his Apprentice.

* * *

 

We hadn't even been missed.

I sat at my usual spot at the table, and he sat next to me in what had been Fred's place. I watched my mother finish up the trimmings on the roast with Fleur at her side. She and Fleur bustled around the kitchen as though they had always worked together. The prim little princess we thought had married into the family had proven to be a strong, independent woman who was ready to take on any task. I think in the beginning of her relationship with Bill that we forgot that she had once Beauxbatons's champion in the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

Platters upon platters of food and drink floated to the table as everyone gathered in around us. In the midst of the chaos of everyone coming to the table, I met the eyes of my Professor again. His left hand was on the table, fingers drumming rather impatiently as we waited. I placed my right hand next to it and rubbed my pinky finger against his. His hand stilled, his little finger slowly reaching out to mine. We twined them together, briefly, as my family moved about us in full speed.

I felt him look at my neck, eyes travelling to my ears.

"You will wear those every day," he said, very softly so that only I could hear.

I blushed and nodded. "Yes, Sir."

"Good," he said, bringing a hand up to quickly touch the hoops with his fingertips. I smiled as they traveled to my ear, sliding down to my chin. The contact made me tremble, until I realized we were being watched.

Hermione had stopped mid-stride while walking down the staircase. She raised her eye brows, those chocolate brown eyes trying to work out what she had just seen. I shook my head, hoping she would see the pleading in my eyes for her not to speak a word of this to anyone. She nodded and continued down the stairs, taking a seat next to Percy on the sofa.

Professor Snape looked at me, his eyes slightly panicked, their dull veneer back to mask his emotions.

I took a breath and said, "She won't say anything, Sir."

He chewed the inside of his lip before nodding, turning back to the table again with a sigh.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bill take a seat across from us. His head cocked to the side when his eyes travelled to my wrist – my sleeve had travelled up my arms slightly. He looked from the bracelet to Professor Snape, and I swear he had the expression on his face that Ron had had when I'd started dating Dean Thomas back in school.

I looked at my bracelet and back to my brother, now wondering what exactly the runes said.

"So, Professor Snape, you and Ginny seem to be getting along well," Bill said, his eyes narrowing slightly. It wasn't a question.

I felt him stiffen next to me. Neither of us had ever spoken of what was happening between us, and I wasn't ready for Bill or Hermione or anyone else in my family to start asking too many questions.

"Yes," Professor Snape said.

"Does he treat you well, Ginny?" Bill asked, looking at me.

"Yes," I said, having trouble keeping the frost out of my voice.

"You seem happy, Gin. Are you happy?" Bill asked me.

I looked at the Professor and back to my oldest brother. I sighed, and decided that the truth would out one day. I looked back to Professor Snape and answered, "Happier than I ever remember being." Under the table, I felt him brush his hand against my thigh before quickly retreating.

Bill nodded, more like he was trying to make a decision than with agreement about what I said. He looked back and forth between the two of us several times. He sighed deeply and muttered, "Fine," as the rest of the family came to join us at the table.

* * *

 

We took a walk together after lunch, through the now vacant field where we grew corn during the summer. The Professor and I must have looked like two black spots in the white snow as we walked about my family's land.

"Have you given any thought about your plans after your time with me is over?" he asked, his voice as soft as it always was when we were alone, even though he was not correcting my behavior just now.

I shook my head. "Surprisingly, I've already had a few offers, but I want to keep my options open."

"Have you given any thought to staying at Hogwarts?" he asked briskly.

"How could I, Sir? There would be no job available for me," I said.

He jerked his head to the side – he must have been trying to hide his face with the curtain of hair that was no longer there. "Perhaps you could open a shop in Hogsmeade," he said.

I looked at him, questioning, but he kept staring straight ahead into the falling snow.

"That takes money, Sir. And I have none."

"I could help you," he said. His gloved hand skimmed over mine before it retreated back into the pocket of his cloak.

"You already have helped me so much. I couldn't possibly –"

"Shhhh," he said. "It's not only in your interest, Miss Weasley. I find I have trouble thinking of you leaving me. The thought is … unsettling."

"For me, too, Sir," I said.

It was in that moment that I realized how much I cared for him. Suddenly, it was more than the two of us filling our needs with each other, as we had unwittingly been doing.  It felt so much deeper, stronger, like an ache in my chest.  In truth, I had been trying very hard not to think about the future, because the thought of being away from him made me very unsettled as well. I couldn't think about it at all without lapsing into periods of moody gloom.

He nodded slightly, and we continued walking.

"I have an idea for my fourth potion."

"You've already done the required three for your first year," he said, now smirking. "Are you trying to surpass my record?"

"Perhaps," I said, smirking back.

"What's your idea?" he asked.

"It won't be a true potion, per se. It will be a compound, like Fred and George's Bruise Healing Paste, except that it'll have unicorn horn in the base, and bromelian, gotu kola, and dittany."

He considered this. "Do you think it will work?"

I nodded. "I think it should heal everything but scars from unforgiveable curses, but even those could be diminished."

"Will you test it on yourself?"

I nodded.

"You may test it on me, as well. Have a first draft of ingredients and instructions on my desk by February 1st," he said.

I stopped walking and stared at him as he walked back to the Burrow, his shape fluid in the snow as his cloak billowed around him in the wind.

* * *

 

He left after dinner, Disapparating into the night air.

There was another gift from him in my room, waiting to be discovered. The glass cylinder had been transfigured into a rectangle that sat on the center of my dressing table. I unstoppered the lid and smelled the clear liquid inside. The lovely scent of lilacs, peach blossoms, and violets filled my nose.

I dabbed a little behind my ears before I readied for bed. I slipped on my flannel pajamas before I remembered he’d instructed me to stop wearing knickers before he left for the night. After I took them off, I crawled between the sheets and fell asleep, dreaming of his hands caressing my bare skin.


	8. Bound

I returned to Hogwarts the next day.

Professor Snape was waiting for me, pacing slowly as I walked to him from the Apparation Point. He took a long, appraising look at his watch before he looked up, his eyes narrowing as he said, "Ten forty-seven, Miss Weasley."

I attempted to look as innocent as I possibly could when I responded, "I was waylaid."

He grabbed my arm and walked me to the waiting carriage. When we were both seated, he covered me with a heavy green blanket to protect me from the ice cold air. Once he was satisfied that I was warm, he hissed into my ear, "Are you baiting me on purpose?"

"Why would I do that, Sir?" I asked. I reached a gloved hand out from underneath the blankets and touched his wrist gently.

He licked his lips, eyebrows furrowing together as though he were in pain. "Don't," he said. "I've missed you too much. Your presence here is … needed."

"I missed you too, Sir," I said.

"Your brother seems to not disapprove," he said as the Thestrals took us to the castle.

I nodded. "But it wouldn't matter to me if he didn't. I'm happy."

The corner of his mouth lifted in a shy, hesitant smile. "As am I," he said in that achingly tender voice that gave me butterflies every time he used it.

My breath caught in my throat. I could only smile back at him and nod, dumbly, as we rode in silence past Black Lake.

"Has Bill told your father?" he asked.

"I don't know, Sir. Bill and I didn't discuss it."

Professor Snape sighed and looked ahead as the castle came into view. I leaned against him, hesitantly at first, putting my head on his shoulder when he didn't object. He stiffened against the action, then relaxed and put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me closer to him. His scent and warmth and nearness were what I wanted – almost as much as the hands that were going to give me the punishment that I needed when we got back to his office.

"You're wearing my gift," he observed as he smelled my neck and hair.

When I blushed, it had nothing to do with embarrassment. "It seems to suit me better than anything else I've ever worn."

The castle was much closer now, making my heartbeat race and that silly smile slide across my face. Filch was standing by the bridge, waiting for us. I pulled back from the Professor's embrace reluctantly when the carriage stopped.

"Did you have a Happy Christmas, Miss Weasley?" Filch asked as he helped me down.

"It was lovely," I said. Filch had been a cantankerous man when I was a student, but now that I was in a position of authority I understood him better, and we almost had a friendship – or at least an understanding of intentions and were friendly.

"Snape," Filch said, as the Professor stepped down after me. They nodded at each other as he took my bag and walked with me to the castle.

The portraits waved at me, welcoming me home after my short absence. Even the Fat Lady came through several paintings to see that I was back. I smiled at them all as we descended to the dungeons. The smiling pictures were soon replaced by the horrific grimaces of the statues and gargoyles that I'd become accustomed to.

Professor Snape walked me to my office and into my suite of rooms. I took my bag from him, leaving him in my sitting room as I took it to my bedroom to unpack later. My rooms hadn't changed much since I had moved in the previous summer. They were still sparsely decorated, as I didn't have many things other than pictures of my family to place on the tables and walls, but the smiling faces of my family and old school friends filled it with enough warmth to make up for it. I sat my bag next to my wardrobe and quickly checked my appearance in the mirror as I removed my gloves, smirking at a picture of George and Angelina at the family store.

I felt him behind me when I took off my cloak, surprising me. I just took it for granted that we would go back to his office, as we always did. His hand grazed my neck and back before he pulled it away, leaving me with the desire to lean against him.

"Palms on the bed, face as close to the coverlet as you can manage," he said, so softly I almost didn't hear him.

I did so immediately, sighing as he stroked my bottom before pulling up my skirt. It was then that he saw the reason I was late – I'd made a detour to Madame Malkin's and had bought a red garter belt with thigh high stockings.

And as requested, I'd worn no knickers.

I heard his sharp intake of breath, followed by a word I could not discern. Years later, he admitted that the word was "beautiful".

He rubbed the skin of my bare bottom and said, "Only wear this on the weekends, or I'll never make it through a single class without wanting to bend you over one of the tables to examine you."

"Yes, Sir," I said, grinning.

"Is this why you were late?" he asked.

"Yes, Sir," I said again.

"It won't get you out of your punishment, Miss Weasley, though it might earn you a reward."

I blushed. "Thank you, Sir."

"Tell me, why are you being punished?" he asked.

"Because I was late," I said, purposefully quiet.

His hand slammed down against my arse, then started to caress my skin again. "Wrong answer. Why are you being punished?" he asked again.

"I was late getting back," I said, a little louder.

Another spank, followed by more soft touches. The alternating sensations were making my skin sing with sensation and were making my core hot and wet.

"Why are you being punished, Miss Weasley?" he asked a third time.

"Because I didn't follow your instructions," I said in a loud, clear voice.

"No, you did not," he said.

Professor Snape took off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his white linen shirt as he had the previous day. I snuck a look back at his arms as he unbuttoned the top few buttons of the collar of his shirt. His pale skin glowed in the soft candlelight of my room as he began to spank me. But, instead of feeling free and relaxed as I normally did during our time together, the combination of pain, arousal, and the waves of awakening desire in my body were making me as tense and tight as a string being pulled between two points. I would come if he continued, I could feel it. I tightened my thighs together, trying to stimulate myself as he spanked my arse and touched my skin.

I knew he was aware of it when he groaned and sat on the edge of my bed, pulling me over his lap and spanking me over his knee. The pins fell out of my hair, my red locks spilling over my face, further releasing the scent of my perfume into the small room. The bulge at his groin rubbed against my belly with each slap of his hand against my skin, and soon it was too much … too much … too much …

"Now," he whispered. "Come, Ginny. Let me see you fly."

I came with a scream – fast, hard, and free. Tears rolled down my face as I shuddered and spasmed against him. He continued to spank me in time with each tremor, though he was stroking my bare skin more than he was spanking now. I came again just after I thought the first orgasm was over. It had been long before my visit to St. Mungo's since I'd touched myself, and during my months of despair I hadn't realized how much my body had missed this kind of pleasure.

Then it was over, my body still and completely fluid. But the tears continued as the release had triggered something else within my mind to break free, and all the emotions I'd held in for so long finally came out as I sobbed in his arms.

I cried for everything I had lost in the war.

I cried for everything I lost after it was over.

I even cried for The Boy Who Lived, who became The Man Who Broke My Heart.

In the end, I cried for the man who was now cradling me in his lap. My head rested against his shoulders as the tears continued to flow.

I loved him. But I was afraid that his heart might still lay in the grave of a woman who had been dead as long as I'd been alive. A woman with bright, ginger hair, so much like my own, that I could merely be a substitute for. It was my deepest, darkest fear, which I had been bottling up like the memories that Harry had poured into the Pensieve the night of the Battle.

I put my arms around his neck and shifted my position so that I was straddling him, wanting desperately to get lost in his warmth and strength. I rested my head against his chest, feeling the heat of his body and the beats of his heart as it pounded rapidly against my cheek. That subtle scent that only belonged to him – so complex that I still can't even describe it accurately in words – tickled my senses as the wool of his frock coat rubbed against my face.

"Let it out, my girl," he whispered, hugging me to him as he rocked me until my tears were completely dry.

Even after I had calmed, he continued to hold me, stroking my back and bum gently at first with a soft touch that grew firmer and more insistent when my breathing sped up. That part of him that had softened with my tears came alive again, slowly at first, then large and firm against my naked flesh. When I looked up, his eyes were bright again and burning with lust.

With his hands guiding me, I rocked my hips against his, tentatively at first, then with more fervor when his hips rose to meet mine. Though we were separated by the fabric of his trousers, I imagined that he was actually moving inside me with each lift of his hips and nudge of his groin against mine.

We moved and rocked together, over and over, never taking our eyes off each other as the rhythm of our hips built upon every previous movement. My clit hit the buttons on his trousers, just enough that I knew I could come again, and the look of desperation in his eyes let me know he was close, too. The low moan deep in his throat met the groan growing in mine as one of the hands on my back moved stealthily, sliding down my body until his fingers cupped my aching, wet mound.

The pleasure of just the sensation of tips of his fingers on me was overwhelming, making me bite down on my lower lip as I continued to move with him, instinctively riding his hand as my body began to shake with the orgasm that threatened to overtake me. His eyes widened as he watched me, his hand stroking gently until every last tremor was wrought from my body. Then he finally joined me, his mouth parting as he sighed and pulled me onto his chest.

* * *

We rocked on my bed, silent and unaware of the world around us, until an Alarm charm began to chime impatiently.

"Do you have a Potion you need to check on?" I asked.

Professor Snape nodded and buried his nose in my hair again, sighing as he pressed a kiss to the top of my head.

Though I was reluctant to move, I slid off his lap and lowered my skirt back into place, casting a quick cleansing charm on us both.

"You will …" he said, clearing his throat as he stood, but nothing came out when he opened his mouth to speak again.

"I'll brew today, Sir. I'm sure Madam Pomphrey will need her stores replenished before the start of term," I said, smoothing my hair back into place.

"I'm sorry," he said, his eyes already beginning to dull before he looked away.

"Why?" I asked.

"I should have stopped," he said as he scrubbed his face with his hands.

"I'm glad you didn't. I didn't want you to stop," I said, looking up at his face. When our eyes finally met, a smile danced across his lips before he brought them back into control.

"You'll tell me if I go too far?" he asked.

"You know I will," I said. I absently touched my bracelet and asked, "What does it really say? It's not my name, is it?"

He looked at me cryptically before he answered. "It says that you are bound to me," he said. He took both of my hands in his and brought them to his face.

"I _am_ bound to you, Sir," I said, smiling up at him.

This time he didn't stop his small, half smile. "And I to you. You do realize that, don't you?"

I nodded.

"I need to hear you say it, Ginny," he said softly.

"I know you are bound to me," I said.

"Good," he said, kissing the palms of my hands until the Alarm charm howled.

* * *

We fell back into our regular routine after the students returned.

My lessons became even more demanding with the start of term, giving us even more time together than we'd had the previous year. Professor Snape was determined to teach me how to brew the Wolfsbane Potion by the end of the spring term. It was the most difficult potion in our world to learn, and I knew he was nervous as any error on my part could ruin a very expensive and much needed potion. The werewolves were slowly coming back to our world after the deaths of Fenrir Greyback and Remus Lupin, and their monthly consumption of the potion was crucial to their safety as well as the safety of our world.

He began to lecture me on the potion whenever possible, and to ensure my perfect attention he bound me to the chair of my old desk in Dungeon Five. When I protested that I would be unable to take notes, he pointed out that I needed to learn to rely on my memory for perfect recall, as this potion required such rapidity in steps that the time to stop and look at a page of notes could ruin it.

I would sit and memorize his every word and action as he lectured and brewed the potion in front of me, until I was freed with a muttered "Relashio". At first he worried over me, making sure that my hands and feet were not in pain or numb until I assured him that he could trust me to tell him if I were uncomfortable. It didn't take long before he did this during all of his private lessons with me, not only the ones for Wolfsbane.

Sometimes, I think we wanted to see just how far we could take the idea of his control over me.

I didn't question it, just like I didn't question many of his ideas when it came to what we did when the doors were locked and warded behind us.

And even now, I still don't question what we do.

He's never given me a reason to.

* * *

Bill started calling me regularly over the Floo, and began a ritual of meeting me at Hogsmeade every Saturday for lunch. At first I think he was merely checking up on me and my odd relationship with my Professor, but after he really realized that our arrangement worked for us and that I was happy, we became closer than I ever thought we could be.

As Bill was the oldest, and I the youngest, with us both going to boarding school at different times, we never got to know each other. Now, we were friends, and even that stubborn part of him that would always view me as the baby who needed to be protected started to waver as he got to know me as a woman who was bound to a man who wanted my happiness.

Neither Fleur nor Professor Snape joined us on these lunches, though Hermione did come with him on occasion if work, and Harry, let her. After the third or fourth lunch she came to, I finally began to realize that our friendship would rebuild with time. And with any luck, perhaps one day my friendship with Harry would, too.


	9. Beloved

Professor Snape stormed into my office Friday afternoon, on the first day of February. I looked up from my research on the Wolfsbane potion; he was making me write an essay on every single ingredient used to in its preparation before he would trust me to brew it alone. 

On Wednesday of this week his third year Potions class had managed to explode ten cauldrons as a practical joke and had earned themselves two weeks of nightly detentions one of us.  We’d both been so busy over the last couple of days with managing their detentions that we’d had no time to spend alone with each other after his last class.  It was leaving us both feeling very …

His eyes were savagely bright when he locked them on mine.

"What is the meaning of this?" he said, slamming the first draft of my ScarMend Paste down on my desk.

I looked at the parchment, which was almost completely marked through with red gashes, and swallowed.

"You can't dice unicorn horn. Dittany is a liquid, not a powder. Bromelian added at the final stage would make the compound a liquid. Are you ignorant, daft, or just completely stupid?"

I looked at the freckled hands on my desk, trying to figure out how to answer appropriately.

"And other thing," he said, slamming his hands down on my desk in front of me and leaning in so that we were face to face. "You haven't eaten a single dessert since those little cretins pulled that stunt.”

“I don’t like lemons, Sir, and that’s all the elves have been – “

He put up a hand and ignored me, continuing on as he said, “And yesterday when pulled your own little stunt with me in the supply closet during class, you had on pair of knickers."

“It’s been very cold,” I said solemnly, remembering the look on his face when I had casually bent down to search the bottom shelf while trying to find the last of the gillyweed, pulling up my skirts a little too high in the process.  If we’d been alone, I think he might have -

"We need to talk about your behavior, Miss Weasley," he said, standing up.

"What about my behavior, Sir?" I asked, biting my lip as my bottom started to tingle.

"I think you know," he said as he warded the doors, locking them with only a spell he could break. "Take off your shoes and tights."

I nodded, feeling his eyes on me as I removed the requested items and handed them to him. I trembled in anticipation of what would happen next as I waited for him to take off his jacket and roll up his sleeves.

"Stand in front of your desk, palms down, nose as close to the wood as you can manage."

"Yes sir," I said assuming my favorite position in front of him.

He paused. "Pull up your skirt and spread your legs as wide as you can," he said softly.

I looked over my shoulder at him, fear prickling my body.  As much as I desired him, loved him, wanted to be with him, I didn’t want it to be like this.

He frowned at me. "I'm not going to fuck you. Now do as I ask, and pull up your skirt to your waist."

I put my nose back down to the desk and did as he asked, feeling the cold air of my office hit the wet skin of my sex. He stood behind me and sighed as he rubbed my arse with both hands until I felt dizzy with the desire for him to punish me. The air over my lower body vibrated, gooseflesh rising over my arms and legs as I waited, trembling in anticipation, until his hands left my skin to unbutton his trousers.

He paused, waiting for me to say no.

 _I'm not going to fuck you_ , he'd said.

My mother had given me endless lectures on what good witches did and did not do before I went to school. She'd told me to save myself for marriage, and since I first met Harry when I was ten years old I had been saving myself for him and that imagined wedding night that happened with another woman. 

But my mother was not in control of my body. She never had been. I was, and so was my Professor as an extension of me. I gladly gave him the control he desired because I knew I could trust him with it. I'd learned in the beginning of this that I could stop him any time, and he immediately would.

Only, I never wanted to stop.

I nodded, and said, "Yes."

He spit into his hand and began to stroke himself, slowly at first and so silently I almost couldn’t hear him, save for the small sighs that occasionally left his throat. As the sound of hand on flesh began to quicken, I closed my eyes and listened to him as he touched himself while he looked at my body. My skin flushed and my nipples peaked as they rubbed against the desk with each shaky breath I took as I imagined the expression on his face.

I wished that I could watch him. My fingers trembled with the need to touch him and to be touched, but I knew I would stay still until I was instructed otherwise. I screamed to him with my mind, pleaded with him in my thoughts to let me see, to let me roll over.

He listened, just as he always did.

"Turn over on the desk, but keep your eyes on mine," he said between strokes. "Unbutton your jacket and blouse, and pull down your bra." His voice was strained. "Keep your skirt up, and spread your legs so I can see you. And touch yourself, Ginny. I want to watch you make yourself come," he said, almost whimpering.

I scrambled over, popping buttons in my haste to undo my clothes. I kept my eyes on his as he continued to stroke himself, slower now as he waited for me. My bra was a front clasp, letting me free my breasts in a second. He moaned when he watched me slide my fingers through my wet folds, using both of my hands to pleasure myself, slipping two finger inside my pussy while rubbing my clit. He continued to stoke himself, faster and rougher by the sounds of his hands slapping against flesh. But I didn't look. I kept my gaze fixed on his glittering, wild eyes as they shifted up and down from my body to my face, and lost myself in his lust.

"Come, Ginny," he grunted.  “Fly again.”

I came, hard, my entire body tingling and shuddering as he continued to stroke himself.

"Say my name," he said through gritted teeth.

"Pro-"

"No – Ginny, my given name … _please_ ," he grunted, almost at the edge.

"Severus," I sighed as the last wave of pleasure rippled through me.

"You are mine," he said.

"Yours, Severus.  I’m yours," I said, willing him to let go.

He groaned harshly as he whispered ‘mine’ again. I slid down a little on the desk as he came, my legs unable to hold me any longer, the hot spurts hitting my chest and breasts. His soft, sighing moans and grunts were like little symphonies to my ears and heart.

"I'm sorry," he said. He sounded like he was in agony as dropped down to his knees, head bowed to his chest.

"Why?" I asked, kneeling next to him on the stone floor.

"I don't know why I'm like this. I should have tried to get you that position at Salem instead of bringing you here to this dungeon with me.  You deserve better than this – better than me," he said, unable to look at me.

I lifted his chin with my finger and made him meet my eyes. "I want to be here, or else I would have taken a cozy little desk job at the Ministry and stayed in my little room at the Burrow.  I still could, if I wanted to.  But I don’t want that life.  I never did.  I don't want anything or anyone else, Severus. All I could ever want is you."

I brought one of my fingers to his lips. He sucked it into his mouth, and I thought I might come again with the sensation of his tongue on my skin. I used my free hand to pull my hair loose around my shoulders. When he saw what I had done, he groaned and released my finger, sank his hands into my hair, and kissed me.

My mouth opened to him and his tongue touched mine, seeking, exploring, tasting. I caught a taste of my musky flavor on his tongue and moaned against him. His hands moved down to the sticky mess on my chest and found my nipples, squeezing them so hard that the painful pleasure made tears run down my face.

"What happens next?" I gasped when his lips travelled to my neck.

"Anything we wish. I have no instructions for this," he said, smirking against my neck before he pulled away and examined my completely bedraggled appearance. My shirt and jacket were still hanging open like provocative curtains on my bare chest, though I had righted my skirt. He, on the other hand, was still clothed, though mussed and red lipped from our kisses.

"Let me bathe you," he said, taking my hand in his and leading me into his office, through it, and into his rooms.

I was amazed at how comfortable his quarters were. Perhaps part of me expected austerity from the man I had previously known to be restrained and harsh.

But these rooms … they were anything but.

His living space was decorated in warm, cherry-wood furniture upholstered in green, though the green was warm and inviting - the color of moss rather than the color of emeralds. The walls were lined with thousands of books, making me feel like I had walked into a fantastical library. I ran my hands over the velvet sitting chair by the fireplace as he led me into his bedroom. There were candles, everywhere, and with a flick of his wrist they were lit, illuminating the room in a warm, decadent glow.

"Wait here, but do not touch anything," he said as he opened the door that I assumed led to his bathroom.

Water splashed as a light citrus fragrance filled the air. I looked around the room from where I stood, trying to find something out about the man who had slithered his way into my heart. I saw much of what I needed to know in two small pictures that were on his dressing table.

The first was a picture of Harry's mother, and I gasped when I realized just how much I favored her. She was laughing and clapping her hands at something that was on the missing side of the torn photograph. Lily Evans looked very young and very happy.

The second was a picture of me taken a last year's Halloween Feast. I was still much too thin underneath my robes, and I was relearning how to smile. But, underneath my pallor and aloofness, I could see my fire already beginning to spark, just underneath the surface whenever my eyes looked to the man who would have been at my right.

My Professor.

I felt his hands around my waist before I realized he was in the room, so fast and catlike were his steps.

"What are you thinking?" he asked as his lips found my neck again.

I sighed when he found a spot where my neck met my shoulder that was especially sensitive. "That Lily will always be a part of you, much in the same way Harry will be to me."

I felt him nod, though it took him several minutes to reply with words. "You may be the only person who would ever understand that."

"I know she will always have a piece of your heart, Severus. But I won't lie and say it doesn't bother me that we look so much alike."

His lips stilled. "There could be nothing farther from the truth than that, Ginny. Although I will admit to having an obsession with ginger hair," he said while running his fingers through my tangled locks.

"Why keep her picture?" I asked.

"Because she will always represent what was the best of me for much of my life," he said, taking the picture is his hands. "Her memory gave me a reason to fight."

I sighed as he sat the picture down. He looked back to me, questioning. "What?" he asked softly.

"What do I represent?" I asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"At first, possibility. And now, my reality." He looked very serious as he spoke.

"Of what?" I asked, hoping I understood.

He took my picture and stroked the side of it with his finger before he put it back down on his dresser. Instead of looking at the picture now, he brought his hands to my face, stroking my cheek with that same finger. "Love," he said softly.

I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him.

"'I am bound to my beloved'," he said between kisses.

"Is that what it really says?" I asked, kissing his crooked nose and pale cheeks.

"You could open a book an Ancient Runes and find out, you lazy excuse for an apprentice," he teased, laughing a little as I kissed his ears and chin.

I shook my head. "I believe you."

"You believed me all the other times too," he said, mocking me slightly.

"Are you telling the truth now?" I asked.

He closed his eyes and nodded.

"Then I still believe you," I said.

Severus removed my garments, exposing my skin to the soft glow of the room. His hands caressed every scar, both the ones caused by Dark Magic and the ones caused by my own hand. He left no inch of my skin untouched in his exploration, and I shivered when the touches became soft kisses over the worst ones on my shoulder. He found the one that caused my visit to St. Mungo's – a large, long cut on the inside of my left elbow, and the first one I ever made – a small, shallow cut on the top of my left leg that I made when he was still Headmaster and the Dementors took away the life from the school.

When he was done, he let me remove his coat and shirt as he untied his cravat. Twenty eight buttons to undo, just like my own, since mine were based on his. Fourteen more on his shirt, and then he was free for my eyes to see. He was hairless, except for a line of black hair that started at his navel and disappeared into his trousers. I mapped out his scars as he had mine, starting with the ghastly gouges on his neck where the snake had tried to rip his throat out. He had so many small starbursts all over his chest and back from being hit with the Cruciatus curse that I had to stifle a wail that threatened to escape. His back had the curse marks from his own Septemsempra that must have been used against him at some point. I touched and kissed every one, until I came to the one that bore him his shame – his Dark Mark. It was now faded with time, instead of bold and black and writhing, it was so pale that it could be overlooked if you didn't know to look for it. I ran my fingers over the scar and listened to him sigh with regret.

I placed my hand over it. "He Who Must Not be Named would have been victorious if not for you."

He smiled ruefully. "So they keep telling me," he said.

"Will you ever believe that your being a Death Eater caused us to win?" I asked.

"Perhaps," he said. But the look of pain on his face let me know that some of his demons may never be completely put to rest.

He led me into the bathroom and watched me lower myself into the tub. I washed, following his instructions on what soap to use and what extra touches I could place on my body that would make him moan. He insisted on washing my hair, following my careful instructions on how to handle the long, fine tresses. When he was satisfied that I was clean he carefully dried me, rubbing me with a dark green towel until I was pink and sensitive all over.

When he took me to his bed, I'd expected him to want to make love, as I was mad for his touch now. Instead, he removed the rest of his clothes and slid under the cool sheets with me, wrapping his arm around my waist and pressing his nude, and very aroused, body against mine. But, ever the surprising and complex man, he told me to sleep.

My body and mind, so attuned to his instructions, obeyed.

* * *

 

We made love the next morning, as the sun shone through windows that he'd charmed to show a mirror image of the sun above the dungeons.

“I love you, Severus,” I finally told him as he kissed his way from my clit to my breasts.

He looked up and locked his hands with mine, moving his body between my legs until I could feel him teasing the lips of my sex.

“My beloved … my Ginny … I love you,” he chanted, leaning down to kiss me as he continued to gently nudge as though afraid that he would hurt me.

When he finally thrust inside and claimed every part of me as his, I sobbed with joy instead of pain. His pleasure and my pleasure blurred into one reality with no beginning and no end, and when we came alive together in love, the dullness left our eyes forever.

* * *

 

After I completed my apprenticeship, I became the Potion's Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Severus had opened the position in hopes of training his replacement, as he had been asked to resume his previous tenure as the Professor for the Defense Against the Dark Arts when the current professor's contract ran out.

By then, Bill had long since let my parents in on our relationship, and everyone else who knew was quietly waiting for us to open up about our affections for each other. I think my father was hoping that Severus would ask him for my hand, though he never did. We'd long established that my consent was my own, my submission to him was my own, my choices were my own, and our life together was our own.

At the Welcoming Feast in the Great Hall that year, he asked me to marry him by covertly placing his family's ring on my finger – the emerald and silver ring of the extinct Prince line.

"I still choose you, my beloved girl," he said in that soft voice only I care hear and is only for me.

I said "yes" and snogged him soundly before I remembered where we were.

The students were the first ones to notice, as there were always a set of eyes on us when we were together at the Head Table. They started to cheer with genuine affection for us both. His characteristic cold, hard glare shut it off as soon as it started, though we did take the warm congratulatory words from the Headmistress as well as the other members of staff, including Mr. Filch, who blew his nose and cried when I hugged him.

We were married at the Ministry of Magic, at the Department of Magical Marriages and Births over the Easter Holidays the next year. My parents, Bill and Fleur, and the Headmistress stood to witness for us. Instead of the white dress Fleur tried in vain to make me wear, I wore my regular teaching robes, still like Severus's down to the buttons. We took no honeymoon, simply returning to Hogwarts and to his rooms that we now had long shared.

Our daughter was born ten years later. Though Salem never responded to my letter when I was looking for an apprenticeship, they responded to Severus's when he asked them to consider Renee as a potential student. We'd both wanted to have her at Hogwarts with us, but when Severus became Headmaster again after Minerva passed away in her sleep, we decided that her education would need to be in a place where she was not the Headmaster's beloved only child.

They don't have our Houses in Salem, of course. When she came home after her third year, we finally settled the family argument by placing the Sorting Hat on her sweet raven black head and letting it finally declare where her placement would have been.

In ten generations of Weasley's and never in the Prince line had there ever been a Hufflepuff.

* * *

 

And still, to this day, after my last class and before dinner, I go to his old office in the dungeons - my office now - and set wards against prying eyes and hands. Severus is always there, waiting for me to arrive.

No matter how many years pass or how many times we do this, I always come to him with my body on fire and ready for him to touch me.

I lean with my hands and elbows against the table, my nose as close to the wood as I can manage, and I wait for him.

And I am never left wanting.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And so it comes to an end.
> 
> I use the phrase "I am bound to my beloved" in several stories. It comes from my interpretation of a verse from the Song of Solomon:
> 
> "16 My beloved is mine, and I am his;  
> He pastures his flock among the lilies.  
> 17 Until the cool of the day when the shadows flee away,  
> Turn, my beloved, and be like a gazelle  
> Or a young stag on the mountains of Bether."  
> Song of Solomon, 2:16-17, NASB
> 
> That's oddly HP, isn't it? Plus, it's just a beautiful book that has a lot more to say about love than I ever could.
> 
> Thanks for reading.


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